Intervention ran last night on A&E. With no offense, and in respect of those who face serious and debilitating addictions yet find the strength to heal, I have the cheeky monkey to ask…
What would your episode of Intervention address?
Toppermost of the poppermost is sex. No apologies or weeping into a hanky while listening to consequence letters penned by loved ones, I grab on and hold with both hands. I was once handily advised I may have a sexual addition and to turn to God; funny since I call upon God in the midst of the behavior. There’s a line between that which we thirst for and that we become drunk on. I get my work done, pay my bills, care for those I love and operate in society all the while with one hand down my pants.
I love my Grey Goose, in the dirty variety, with chewy to the point of crunchy colossally large green olives swirling in murky brine. And coffee, iced or hot and never overly pompous. No need for sprinkles or a caramel swirl, I take it with just a splash of softness.
The potato, my lover and enemy. If I found myself stranded forever on a desert island I’d wish only for a wrinkly pink friend, Beatles CD's and potatoes in any form - baked, french fried, hash, chip, shoestring. Tot.
If that island was equipped with cable or electricity (the professor on Gilligan’s Island made a phone from a coconut, after all) I’d be happy for all eternity with Ab Fab. Wrong as it is right, I live vicariously through Patsy and Edina, hell, often along side and in the same Christian Lacroix, sweety darling.
Clean hair. Back in the day when clubs allowed smoking, I’d wash my long locks at 2 or 3 in the morning to rid the stale smell before bed. I get wet (then dry and flat ironed) for the smell, feel and swing of fresh hair.
Ironing, because I like to be “crisp.” Perhaps it comes from years of living poorly, when spare cash and a pair of jeans were few and far between, new clothes coming only at back to school time. And I always iron pillow cases.
Last, gimme some truth. Secrets, anonymity, suppressing desire and living quietly instead of out loud will kill, at the very least shrivel. I'm tall for a girl, reaching 5’8 plus in stocking feet and rarely found in flats, yet wish I were taller yet. Same for truth.
Because more is better, even when towering in heels makes others uncomfortable.
Some addictions can actually save your life.