Years and years ago M and I lived in his parent’s pool house. It was cozy and fun and had the best back yard imaginable. It was so small that when our pull-out couch was open it pretty much took up the whole room. Since we are both inherently lazy (and we broke one couch by opening and closing it every day) the bed was rarely closed and it was the center of our home. We slept, ate, and basically lived on the open couch. When we moved to our little house (which seemed mansionlike in comparison) we took the couch with us. And, as old habits die hard, we still seem to live on its white canvas.
Since Little L was born I have spent even more time ensconced on the saggy cushions, laptop precariously perched on my lap, TV spewing hour after hour of bad summer re-runs. It may be dirty and old, but it’s comfortable enough and I had no cause for complaints. Until today that is.
Today I realized that my couch is slowly sucking my brain dry and sapping me of all energy. I don’t know how it does it, but I no longer have any doubts. I mean, how else can you explain the fact that when I’m anywhere else in the house I can think of any number of things I need to do, but the instant I sit down I forget everything?
I have to find another place to nurse the baby. I have to find the strength to stay away from the couch. But it’s just so very hard. It calls to me, seduces me, lures me with sweet nothings and the promise of brainless TV shows. I just don’t know if I have it in me to fight the attraction. Does anyone know of a support group for this kind of addiction?