What constitutes an addiction?

I rushed back to the office today so I could blog during my lunch hour. I'm sitting here eating homemade fried rice (thanks, Sweetie) and blogging. If you had told me a week ago that I'd be doing this, I'd have called you a few choice names and advised you to see a shrink.

But does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? I mean, it's sorta like the days when I rushed home from working in retail (12 hour days were nothing) and headed for the freezer for my ice cold bottle of Stoli. Back then few people knew what Stoli WAS, let alone that it was one of the best vodkas hard earned money could buy. Kamikaze's were my drink of choice and I loved them served in a martini glass, only one or two ice cubes. After the second one, I'd lay down on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. This was a habit of mine and one that I embraced. My daughter was about 13 or so when she came to me and told me she was worried I was becoming an alcoholic, like her grandmother. WOW, what a shock to the system. Two drinks makes me an alcoholic? Or was it the routine that I was addicted to? I realized that I was in the same pattern as my mother. She "only" drank beer or wine, so she couldn't be an alcoholic. At least that was what she always told us. We never bought it and, eventually, she died alone in a hospital that kept calling my brother to come quick because she wasn't going to make it "this time". That phone call had come so many times to him and me that neither of us would ever believe it really WAS the truth. Well, until this time. So the patterns that she had created over the years of crying wolf, hiding her drinking and alienating her children became HER addiction. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.

I stopped drinking back when my daughter told me she was afraid I was becoming my mother. That scared me and I stopped. Cold. I started up again years later, but never fell back into that routine of coming home from work, drinking and passing out. Well, until recently.....

The job, the career I've chosen (or it chose me), is stressful. A LOT of stress. Not the kind of life threatening stress like firefighters or police officers have that comes with adrenaline. Just the kind of stress that allows idiotic people to call and threaten you on the phone or by email that if I don't do what THEY want me to do, something bad will happen. I don't know about you, but I don't respond well to threats. The brat in me wants to say "Oh, yeah? What're you going to do about it? You can't MAKE me!!!" But then the adult in me makes a quick appearance and I realize that my income is responsible for keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and all of the other necessities like DVR, On Demand, wireless internet, two cars, a mortgage that is 45% higher than the value of the home....you get the idea. So, the adult in me takes over completely and I try to find a reasonable solution that everyone can be happy with.

But I don't go home and have a drink and fall asleep on the couch. First of all, the meds I'm on prevent me from absorbing copious amounts of alcohol. Secondly, the beagles have taken over the couch. So, I pop my evening batch of meds and head to the bedroom for a nap before dinner. Sometimes I don't eat dinner because the sleep is so much nicer and I can afford to miss about a week of dinners every week for a month!

So, am I now addicted to the naps? The quiet time? Not speaking witih ANYONE for a few hours? Addicted to Judge Judy or the latest celebrity garbage on TMZ? Snuggling with the Maltoodle while she licks my face?

Or am I now becoming addicted to blogging? Rushing back to the office, eating fried rice at my desk....is this Day 1 of a new addiction? And what would be the cure? Do I care?