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Addiction, or It Isn't My Fault by Alexa Wolf
Friday, March 27, 2009
Rated "G" by the Author.
It isn't my fault that I'm allergic and addicted to sugar...
It isn’t my fault that I’m allergic to sugar and eat it anyway. I eat it because that is part of the allergy. It’s an addictive allergy. I crave sugar – also gluten. I’m a glutton for gluten. I smell a fresh bagel and my eyes roll in an ecstasy of anticipation.
I’m high while I eat it then comatose from my physiological reaction. My mind staggers, my body weakens, and craves more. I once stood by a wedding cake after everyone had eaten their slice and were engulfed by the festivities. I spooned frosting-rich cake onto my colorful paper plate, serving after serving, and ate for a solid hour. Then I went home and lay immobile on my back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes crossed and glazed, for two hours.
But it’s not my fault. When sugar or gluten calls, the little bad bacteria living in my gut, who love it so much, direct me, command me: “Eat that, EAT THAT!” Well, and so I do. (I once had a boyfriend who said, “If they want it, tell them to go get it.”) I just cannot always resist the invitation of the high I get, although, to pat myself on the back, I do not succumb as often as in my youth.
When I was in my twenties, I was progressing toward obesity. That was the only thing that stopped me, and the brakes squealed for about ten years before coming to a definitive halt. I then managed to control myself for a few decades.
But now the compulsion has once more become overwhelming, and the only thing that stays my greedy hand is that, besides becoming comatose – who cares about being comatose? – these condiments cause a rampant inflammation throughout my body. I eat sugar and I get pain in my joints and muscle cramps in my hands and, feet. I eat gluten and I get Restless Leg Syndrome, or, in its more extreme version, what I call Grasshopper Leg Syndrome. I am doing the Can-Can all night.
But sometimes even these symptoms can’t hold me back. “Eat!” cry my bad bacteria. “Eat!” commands my drive to feel ecstasy.
Sometimes, however, caffeine will give me enough of a lift to allow me to avoid those villainous victuals: caffeine, with its own endowment of hyped out bliss; caffeine, my drug of choice. But with caffeine I don’t feel guilty, even if it makes my hands shake and spine jitter. For I get my caffeine from green tea. Indeed, I feel quite self-righteous. Green tea has so many health benefits, after all.
Deputy Dave Jenkins sets out to find the murderer of the local high school principal, aided by a voice from the grave that is sometimes helpful and sometimes misleading.
"Murder isn't usually this funny."
Amazon reviewer
