Excess kills the very qualities I seek in anything, be it possessions, activities or food. ~ For Today (Kindle Location 2440).
I know how to quit a stupid game, be it Angry Birds
or Spider Sol, Shisen or Sudoku, crossword puzzles,
or blackjack, Candy Crush or tic-tac-toe.
Play it ad nauseam, again and again and again.
Maybe they named it revulsion therapy but long before
when people picked up stones or sticks and threw them,
when they threw lots or dice or any ancient game
they knew the concept. Enough is enough is enough
and your favorite activity can become torture per se.I know how to quit bingeing without a program,
without intent, without hope. After a while
there can even be another bowl of ice cream
sitting at the bottom of the carton (probably the third)
and the thought of putting it in your mouth brings pain.
And I know in the past I would feel that way
and after I finished it, despite hating the act,
I'd stop, there being nothing left to inhale.
We have twenty-nine typewriters, seventeen eagles,
and before I gave them away about fifty elephants.
I've still got them but the joy is gone. I kept the best
and like them for who they remind me of,
but too much finally makes the wanting abate.
I am serially compulsive, it's who I am.
But it's not how I have to act. I can choose
to do the next right thing, to act like an adult,
to be sane for the moment. When I do,
I can enjoy a grape, a five-minute game,
a beautiful object or something that makes me smile
and the insanity can remain at bay.
or Spider Sol, Shisen or Sudoku, crossword puzzles,
or blackjack, Candy Crush or tic-tac-toe.
Play it ad nauseam, again and again and again.
Maybe they named it revulsion therapy but long before
when people picked up stones or sticks and threw them,
when they threw lots or dice or any ancient game
they knew the concept. Enough is enough is enough
and your favorite activity can become torture per se.I know how to quit bingeing without a program,
without intent, without hope. After a while
there can even be another bowl of ice cream
sitting at the bottom of the carton (probably the third)
and the thought of putting it in your mouth brings pain.
And I know in the past I would feel that way
and after I finished it, despite hating the act,
I'd stop, there being nothing left to inhale.
We have twenty-nine typewriters, seventeen eagles,
and before I gave them away about fifty elephants.
I've still got them but the joy is gone. I kept the best
and like them for who they remind me of,
but too much finally makes the wanting abate.
I am serially compulsive, it's who I am.
But it's not how I have to act. I can choose
to do the next right thing, to act like an adult,
to be sane for the moment. When I do,
I can enjoy a grape, a five-minute game,
a beautiful object or something that makes me smile
and the insanity can remain at bay.
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