Addiction

They, (who ever they are) say that the first step to overcoming an addiction is to admit that you have a problem. Well, like a certain television character who shall remain nameless, I am ready to admit that I am addicted, but hesitate to call it a problem.
I am addicted to paper.
Something about it draws me. It is that missing link, the connection between the mind and the written word.
With this addiction comes a compulsion. I must buy paper. I love it. A new pack of lined notebook paper, a bundle of notebooks, note cards, journals, books, paper plates, anything made of compressed tree pulp. I even get upset in public restrooms when I find that in order to save the environment, they have gotten rid of paper towels.
I say that I hesitate to call it a problem, but I am beginning to wonder. I find that lately, I have begun to see a downside to my addiction. I have three copies of one of my favorite books, four or more copies of Treasure Island (which I have never read), six to seven types of note cards (of which I have only ever use three types, and never gave out most of those I filled out) somewhere around fifty notebooks ranging between full, empty, and page less. Yet, whenever I find a copy of my favorite book, I want to buy it. I feel that classic books such as Treasure Island should be rescued when found in thrift stores, and bargain shops -- like homeless puppies. The other day at a store I loaded my cart with things I needed for my apartment, then at the end of my trip, put almost everything back to save money unfortunately on the way to the register I passed the card isle and left with two new packs of cards -- one blank, one thank you -- for which I have no use, but they were so cool. My family and friends look at me strangely when they find me burring my nose in a musty old book, or breathing deeply as I flip the pages of a new notebook.

But I cant help it, the look, the smell, the feel of it beneath my fingertips. I keep a pad of paper and a few pens beside my desk, and there are some night when I cannot sleep for the urge to write, to get my thoughts down on paper, then there are other nights when I need to sleep, but stay awake just to fill a blank page with ink. I write the alphabet, practice cursive, make lists.

What am I saying? I don't know. I have issues. Who doesn't. But that's all I can write right now, Walmart is having a sale on notebooks and I should probably go stock up.