Spider Solitaire

It's long been my rule that if I ever feel like I need a drink, I'm not allowed to have one. I will not become dependent. Addicted. I will not rely on a mind numbing substance to solve my probelms for me. I don't have a lot of faith that it will make best choices. However, if I simply want a drink, then, assuming it's after five o'clock and I'm done working for the day, I may help myself. To one. The Rule has changed somewhat over the years. Another caveat has been added. I don't drink alone. It's no fun. Seems too dangerous; could lead me to relying on an inanimate substance as company; could lead me to needing a drink. And sometimes, if I'm out for the evening, I might have more than one. If I'm not driving. If I'm in a safe place with people I trust. If someone is watching my back. And occasionally, when on vacation, I'll bend the five o'clock rule to apply to five o'clock somewhere in the world, not necessarily where I might currently be. Anyway, The Rule has been in effect for decades. The Rule has served me well.

Today I'm wondering if The Rule has to apply to Spider Solitaire. I NEED to play. So does that mean I can't? I shouldn't? Am I relying on the game to get me through rather than facing life head on? Am I running? Hiding? Escaping? Wasting time?

I need to play. I really need to play.

I have a book due in three weeks. It's lacking a lot of chapters. Pages don't get written if I'm not typing words in the right document. I've actually never seen a single paragraph get written while moving little virtual cards on top of other little virtual cards. Even when they become a full and complete suit and float up (or down, as the case might be) to the foundation row, flooding the player with satisfaction, words aren't written.

I need to play. I really need to play.

It's Ryan's story. He just made love with the woman of his dreams. He's sure he has to have her in his life for time and all eternity. And then she found out that he's only twenty-two. (He's a detective, a precocious boy, don't you know, and far too mature for his age.) He's about to find out that she's thirty-five. And I'm supposd to write a romance out of this.

I need to play. I really need to play.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I always come up with these impossible to write stories? Why do I have such rigid rules in my life (oh my gosh, it's Ryan! He's too rigid! I'm rigid! I'm writing me! Except I'm older than 22. And I'm not a detective. Or a guy.) Sorry, back to the point. Why doI have such rigid rules that govern my life, but then break every rule in the romance writing text book when I sit down to pen tales?

Oh my gosh, I need to play. I really really need to play.

I hate spiders. Ladybugs, I can do. Ants...I'm good with spraying them if they're in the house. Or leaving them alone if they aren't. Silverfish and other assortments of creepy crawlies I tolerate. But spiders unhinge me. Why on earth would they call a game spider solitaire? The version I have on my phone (as opposed to the one on my desktop or the other one on my laptop) even has a spider as the opening screen. I have to look at the ugly black creepy, heebie jeebie thing every single time I play.

And still, I want to play.

Whoa! Did you see that? I WANT to play! How did that happen? Not need, but want. Today is not a day for me to look a gift horse in the mouth so I'm taking that one and heading off. Apparently it's time for a game...