In today's world of addiction to drugs, sex, money, power, cigarettes, and alcohol, I too must stand up and be counted. My name is Bonnie and I am a compulsive crossword puzzle solver.
This compulsion, I believe, was inherited. Years ago, I observed my mom sitting for hours with the squares-within-a-square in the daily paper, a cigarette in one hand, a drink and a pencil in the other. I puzzled over her puzzle-mania. The words “boring” and “having no life” came readily to mind.
I vowed never to fall into the definition void into which she had obviously descended. I was, however, like her in that I loved the English language. I read voraciously. Words and phrases fascinated me. Incorrect grammar abhorred me. Personal diaries lined my bookshelves. From the time I had youthful brain cells, I dreamed of authoring books. These factors, along with Mom, led me to believe that I was predisposed to solving crossword puzzles: the addition/compulsion was in my genes.
Without surprise then, as I grew older, I noticed that my eyes zipped uncontrollably from the daily weather forecast in the newspaper to the crossword puzzle across the way. Alarmed, I quickly zapped my peepers back to the barametric pressue foretold for this day. But alas, within a short period of time, I was doing the light stuff – word search puzzles.
Amused for awhile, I soon tired of these insipid mazes. I needed a fix that would blow my mind, not put it to sleep. So I progressed to the TV Guide crosswords. Since I bought the guide for a purpose other than solving the puzzle, I told myself it was okay. No outright purchase solely for CPS (Crossword Puzzle Solving) had taken place. Stars of defunct TV shows, famous dogs, and Lucile Ball trivia hopped me up for about a week. Then the hunger grew, gnawing at my insides.
Soon I found myself in Walmart, creeping sideways like a malfunctioning toy Slinky, toward the hard-core section of the magazine racks – the Penny Press section, a smorgasbord of available highs. I wondered if there were hidden cameras documenting suspected users. I didn’t care. I selected a Dell and a Superb. I finished a puzzle in the car before leaving the parking lot of the store. I was hooked.
I tried limiting CPS to a few minutes after dinner. But soon I was “penciling up” before work, during my lunch hour, in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. I told myself, “It’s 3:00 a.m. You have to work tomorrow (today). Put it away!” “Just one more word and then I’ll stop.” I subscribed to Collector’s Crosswords, The Best of the New York Time’s Crosswords, and Popular Crosswords. I surreptitiously purchased four brands of crossword puzzle dictionaries and read them like novels.
Today, the disease manifests itself in other ways. I listen to news broadcasts and think of appropriate synonyms. A friend mentions a needle and I immediately think of “etui” – needle case. I’m waiting for “Dies Irae” to come up in conversation. I’m aware of a note in Guido’s scale – “ela.” I know Slaughter in Cooperstown is “Enos.” Arete is a mountain crest. But what good is all this trivia? Proficiency in one category on the game show, Jeopardy?
The ravages of this compulsion also are evident; bags under my eyes, thicker glasses, shakes and headaches when I abstain. I see my future before me. A portly, redheaded crone sits in a nursing home refusing to eat, to go to the bathroom, to shower. Puzzle books, dictionaries, thesauruses surround her. Three or four #2 pencils with erasers worn down to nubs protrude from her matted hair. She screams in a shrill voice, “What’s the word for needle case?” Pitiful, isn’t it?
I plan to form a support group known as CPAA (Crossword Puzzle Addicts Anonymous). We’ll sit in a circle, join hands, and share the degrading symptoms of our disease. We’ll cry and hug and try not to ask each other the word for Henri’s squeeze (“amie”). We’ll burn our favorite CPS pencils in a cleansing rite. We’ll boycott Penny Press. We’ll smoke cigars, play poker, or pick pockets to keep our hands occupied.
In the meantime, I pray that researchers find a cure (healing, remedy, fix, succor, restoration, therapy, antidote………..) Oh, God!
