The month-long hiatus I’d planned to take starting in mid-October turned into an indefinite one. I’m returning to blogging today in the laziest way possible—by having someone else do my work.
This guest post is brought to you by my talented and funny (anonymous) husband.
I see her lying there. “Asleep” is not the word. She is passed out, her body pushed past its limits. Her addiction has once again ruined her mind and left her body unable to maintain consciousness.
What am I to do? Do I keep pretending that this isn’t happening in front of me? In front of our son?
We joke about it sometimes. How it started recreationally. How it was just harmless fun. And it was. Even I’ve dabbled a little. But it didn’t grip me. Not like it did her.
Last night, my beautiful wife succumbed to exhaustion with that accursed phone in her hand. I came back from the bathroom to see her once angelic face illuminated by the screen. Her body had simply shut down, and drool slowly made its way free from her contorted lips.
Now, she sees the world as she does that game. She aligns items in the house in groups of three or four. I see her, hoping for a magical animated pastry to appear and reward her for her work.
It never comes.
And she dies a little.
So I hang my head in resignation. Too weak to do anything. Anything of merit, anyway. I just take her phone from her stiff fingers and place it on the nightstand to be within arm’s reach when she wakes. I make sure the phone has a charge, lest the withdrawal set in.
Instead of helping, I enable.
I am weak.
I am afraid. Afraid to tell her to stop. To tell her that the game eats her phone’s battery life. That there are far better match-three games on the market.
Instead, I retreat to my space and weep.
And I play Words With Friends. Because it is better.
Fuck you, Cookie Jam.
I never thought this would happen to me. I remember scoffing at all those Facebook invitations to play Candy Crush, likely posted by degenerates who lacked the ability and/or motivation to make valuable contributions to society.
But I zoned out on Bejeweled for many hours in the early 2000s, so I suppose the signs were there.
And this is Bejeweled . . . with cookies.
Has my hiatus been productive? Nary a post of mine has gone viral, nary an agent has been procured, and nary a contest has been won. But I have been on In the Powder Room with Makeup Hacks for Moms and MockMom with Protesting Christians Say Kotex Holiday Tampons “Too Secular”–and more important, I’ve ascended to level 164 and amassed tens of thousands of points on Cookie Jam. What can I say? I’m an achievement-oriented person. And when I don’t pass a level—when I don’t get all the pastries boxed up for the bake sale and that sad motherfucking panda chef looks at me all disappointed-like–I try to use the resulting sense of failure and shame productively to fuel me to success. (You don’t even have a master’s degree, panda. So don’t look at me like I’m a disappointment.)
I was already on the path to nihilism. What’s a few disdainful looks from an animated panda?