In which I admit I am a slug…

So, I’ve been saying to anyone who will listen to me lately that if I’m not eating, sleeping or working, there’s just not a lot going on. I’m in survival mode, I say, with just no energy left for anything else.

Sure. Sounds legit, right? Poor girl. She’s working 50+ hours per week, and she spends one night a week at her MIL’s in SF (hi Mom!), and she’s running around four counties on her “days off” for her bookkeeping clients. Who can fault her for not writing more regularly, or reading a book from time to time, or walking (or otherwise moving her fat-ass)?

Me. I can fault me.

I’m usually very gentle with myself and encourage others to be gentle with themselves. Take care of yourself. Don’t sweat the dishes in the sink or the dust on the bookshelves or the piles of laundry. Don’t deprive yourself of jammies days spent watching the boob-tube or soaking in the tub avoiding reality. They are vital to your mental health.

Take care of yourself, because if you don’t take care of yourself you can’t take care of anyone else. Yes, just like on an airplane where they instruct you to put your oxygen mask on first and then your child/ren’s. You are the foundation for the wellbeing of your family. There’s so much truth to “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

Hey, this mama’s happy. I enjoy my job, I love my family and friends, and I’ve created a beautiful haven in a hectic life.

But the truth is, I’m a slug. Basically lazy. Yep, the “L” word. Okay, maybe not. Maybe in a more gentle approach to the truth, I am battling a mild dip in the pool of depression. Wouldn’t be the first time; probably won’t be the last. Because what I’m actually doing when not eating, sleeping or working is playing those damn matching-three games.

Yep, the ugly reality is that I have not been able to manage my game addiction. I play when I wake up. I play when I go to bed. I play when I’m killing time. I will even pause a recorded television show that I am otherwise contentedly watching to pick up my phone and play all my lives in three different games. Because it is THE thing to do that calms my thoughts and quiets my mind. Truthfully though it creates a black hole sucking all productivity out of my life.

Last night as I battled the mental argument over playing the games v. watching television v. washing the dishes v. writing a post, I finally realized that there is no “moderation” of game playing possible for me, and I uninstalled all my games from my phone. Every. Single. One.

Nope, there are no more games on this phone.

Nope, there are no more games on this phone.

Thus, when I awoke this afternoon, I finally finished a book I’ve been “reading” (ignoring) for months. I’ve read it so disjointedly that I have actually no idea who killed who at the end. I’m pretty sure the good guys won and the bad guys died and the heroine lived and the hero will battle another day, but I have no recollection why I would have cared for these characters. Not the author’s fault. Mine. My fault for not paying attention.

Just like I don’t pay attention to what’s going on around me in the lives of my friends and family on anything deeper than the most superficial level. So, if I’m going to be inspirational to any other survivors who may happen upon this little corner of the blogapshere, I’ve got to get my own shit together first.

I’ve taken the first step: I admitted my shortcomings. I’ve taken the second step: I uninstalled the games.

Next week, with any luck, I’ll talk about the signs and symptoms of addiction (of any kind).

Fingers crossed.

Stay tuned.