My Secret Addiction

I like to live dangerously, tinkering with the edge of old addictions.  I just laid a jigsaw puzzle out on my dining room table. Now what earthly good are jigsaw puzzles? What does hours hunched over a scattering of brightly-coloredpuzzle pieces accomplish?

 You might say nothing, but it scares me a little. Am I in danger of awakening other addictions?  Will I become a compulsive gambler? A shopper? At my age it’s unlikely I’ll become a sex addict. 

But I make deals with myself that when I find a particular edge piece I’ll go to bed.  And then I don’t. Just one more. Just one more.  I lie to myself and keep going. I’m already cheating.

 You see there’s a buzz when I pounce upon a piece and it links up with another one and the cat’s ear or the roof line or the man’s face falls together. And I’m hooked.  

 Does it sharpen my spatial relations skills?  My color sense? My fine motor skills? It does give me an illusion of control when life seems so disordered. My Bose radio is playing beautiful classical music and I truly listen instead of giving music my distracted attention. The fire is crackling across the room and there’s a cat and a dog lying in front of it, and another cat in my lap. They love it when I sit still for once.

Is this a harmless addiction. Is it a waste of time? Not everyone thinks so. The Queen is a reported jigsaw puzzle addict.

 I’m supposed to be promoting my current murder mystery and writing another one.  Not wasting time.

 Are you a secret jigsaw puzzle addict? Please tell me I’m not alone.

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