I gave in to my addiction yesterday.

The monkey was on my back.

I was Jonesin'.

I could not help myself.

The higher power did not stop me.

I was helpless.

I gave in.

I ate 1.25 bags of heavily sea-salted Frontera Lime Stone-Ground Organic Yellow Corn Tortilla Chips.

I ate them straight from the bag(s), while sitting in front of the computer.

I savored the salt.

I made a mess.

I did not stop until there was only one chip remaining at the bottom of the bag.

I saw it and thought, "If you eat that, you're really in trouble."

So I threw that one out with the bag.

I felt like crap before, during and after the ordeal.

In fact I still feel like crap.

But afterwards I began working on The Big Project I've been putting off for the past six months.

And then I did some of my teacher training homework, and later dreamt that I was on the right path yoga-wise.

So maybe corn chips aren't the problem.

Perhaps they're part of the solution.

I'm sure Hemingway and all the other drunken writers thought that about the drink, too....

At least I'm in good company.

SALT II: THE AFTERMATH

It has been a very mild winter in Chicago.

There has been barely any snowfall, which means that the city has used very little salt on the streets to melt it.

The other day it snowed enough to make it look like a winter wonderland.

The salt trucks were out even before it started to snow.

And they stayed out.  Could it be that the city fathers need to get rid of all the salt they have stockpiled, so they can buy more from their connected friends?

Could it be they need to give some overtime to the sanitation workers who got their jobs through patronage and moonlight as election-time ward cretins?

Could it be that there's a mayoral primary coming up?

But I digress.

The other night it was snowing lightly and the city trucks were still out.

You'd think we were expecting the Blizzard of '79.

There was so much salt on the Clark Street that the tires literally crunched as one drove north towards Wrigley Field.

It was exactly like driving on gravel.

But by morning the snow had stopped.

Everything -- buildings, cars, signs, the street itself -- was covered in a fine coating of salty dust.

It was floating in the air, making everything a little bit blurry.

The eyes even watered.

You could taste the salt on your lips and in your mouth.

Corn chips would have been redundant.