Addicted

I don’t consider myself to be one of those people with a very addictive personality. I’ve never been a smoker, I don’t drink to excess (shhh, my parents read this), I can use drugs in moderation (and by drugs I mean Advil, Mom), I can even go a day without coffee… if forced. But there is one thing that even I cannot resist, and it has come back to haunt me: Tetris.

I downloaded Tetris on my cell phone for entertainment if I ever happened to be on the subway without a book. But recently, I’ve found myself playing even when I have a book. And, sadly, even when I’m not on the subway.

It’s becoming a problem. Again. This is not the first time I’ve encountered Tetriholism. As a kid, my sister and I saved up our allowance for months to purchase a Nintendo. I’d rush home from school to plug my brain into our new toy for two hours before dinner. I’d see Tetris pieces when I close my eyes. I squint at trees on the sidewalk thinking, if I could just turn that oak 90 degrees to the left it would fit perfectly between that house and that UPS truck.

It’s happening again.

There is something more to Tetris than the simple joy that most video games bring their players. Tetris fills an innate need. It has a draw that’s almost lustful. Here’s my new and somewhat family-inappropriate theory: Tetris allows women to experience the satisfaction of sticking a long, straight piece into a perfectly fitted empty space. It just feels so damn good to get that big block into the blank hole and have four lines blink and disappear.

Just thinking about it is making me want to play right now. Maybe I can sneak away at lunch for a quickie.