Blast from the Past

I have the plague and am too pooped to post, hence another one of these.

The explanation.

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A Million Little Pieces
Originally posted Oct. 12, 2006

Hi. My name is _____, and I'm a recovering addict.

I've been clean for five months. I thought for sure I'd never go back, but then this week I cracked and gave in to the urge that haunts my every waking moment.

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Like so many other things, I blame it all on law school. Law school is where I got hooked on the stuff, actually.

They first offered it to me during orientation, before I'd attended a single class. "First one's free," they cajoled. "Everyone loves it." I demurred. I was too smart for them, too wise to their ways to be drawn in.

But law school is hard, especially the first year. A few weeks in, you're so desperate for an escape, something to take your mind away from the pain.

When they offered it to me again, I accepted.

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I'm talking, of course, about legal research points. Oh, the sweet shameful delight of legal research points! Westlaw! Lexis! Each one better than the other! Gorgeous beautiful shiny pretty points you can use to get stuff! For free! FREE STUFF!!!

My addiction started out as nothing more than an infrequent diversion. Oh, sure, I'd click on the sites, every now and then. It was nice to watch the points rack up.

But then I started using the points to get the free stuff. Ohhhh, it was gooooooood, so very very good.

Next thing I knew, the points had consumed my life. Had I logged in that day? Must log in every day! I was a legally inclined Cinderella, dreading the midnight hour that marked the end of each day's point-earning opportunity.

And then I hit rock bottom. Online tutorials. Certification classes. Super Bowl quizzes. There was no limit to the depraved depths I would go to get my high, no debasement too degrading. I was a slave to my addiction, to the custom bikes and rollerblades and designer purses that teetered precariously in an ever-growing pile of ill-gotten goods.

It would have gone on forever, but then, just like that, they cut me off cold-turkey.

Slowly, surely, I began to live again. I stopped jerking awake each night from dreams that I had forgotten to earn my daily points. I began to forget the rush I felt when the doorbell would ring and I would receive the coveted box of point-purchased prizes, began to forget the musty-redolent bouquet that wafted up from the cardboard and made my mouth water.

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And then, then, those bastards had to go and start the "rewards" program for associates. A jolt ran through my body when they told me, and I experienced something like dread that quickly morphed into a piercing craving so sweet it made my teeth hurt.

I took the glossy brochure that contained my 1000 introductory bonus points, trying to project a nonchalant demeanor, though inside I was hooting with joy.

I exited at a walk, but as soon as I was out of sight I broke into a sprint, urged on by my lust for the impending ecstasy.

I logged on to the site with shaking hands. It was at once foreign and yet so familiar, a homecoming long awaited but never expected.

And then...there! My 1000 points! Oooooh, the gooey orgasmic BLISS of it all! Maybe I'd get the Kate Spade purse this time, or maybe a giant grill, or maybe the diamond necklace, or... My mind raced with the possibilities, a whole universe of possibilities ripe for the taking just when I thought the door was closed to me forever!

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And that's how they get you, my friends. Because they got me, oh yes, they got me.

I can only get more points by performing 10 searches per week. Ten searches billed to clients for a weekly total of anywhere between $70 to $1000, ten searches that will never, ever happen because I never, ever research.

Fuckers.