Beltane Waning Planting Moon
Each morning I get up, let the dogs out, open the garage door, wander down the driveway, pick up the newspaper, open it and read the front page on the way back, make breakfast, read and finish the paper (a geezer thing to do if I read the cultural tea leaves aright), the come downstairs. When I get downstairs, no matter what else I have planned, I end up here, writing in this blog.
I read a quote from Carl Jung the other day which said that any addiction, no matter what it is, is bad. As much as I admire Jung, I had to wonder. Perhaps the question is where does habit begin to bleed over into compulsion? My exercise habit, strong enough now that I feel a push to do it rather than not, is that an addiction? Writing here in the morning, is this habit compelling me?
My TV watching in the evenings comes very close to addiction, perhaps presses over the line. In the Monty Python skit the comfy chair, a member of the spanish inquisition uses a comfortable chair with which to torture the suspected heretic. “Seet here, you scuum.” My repose in my own comfy chair, literally, and in the pillowy bosom of broadcast television, occurs at my own doing, yet has a culturally activated and market reinforced quality, too.
The other two? Not so much. I say this, Mr. Jung, from the vantage point of a former smoker and a recovering alcoholic now 34+ years sober.
OK. I can go now.