It’s not what you think.
Yes, I am still taking Percocet, but I take less and less of the low-dose that I have been prescribed every day. I can see a day in the near future when I am just taking OTC pain relievers as needed.
While I am still taking Percocet, I am not drinking. I am certainly no doctor, but I’ve noticed a trend in celebrity deaths where painkillers and alcohol appear to be a lethal combination. I am sure it contributes to the early demise of non-celebrities as well, so I am taking no chances.
I am afraid my addiction, which was simmering before my medical leave, has become a full-blown obsession since I have lots of time on my hands and no way to get out of the house. Worst of all, I fear there is no spa-like rehab facility where I can recover in style.
My addiction is so much worse than booze and pills. And I am ashamed, very ashamed.
Hello. My name is Nona and I am addicted to daytime television, particularly the trashy reality shows on Bravo.
I start each day with the Today show, from 7 a.m. until 11 a.m. — yes, I watch Hoda and Kathie Lee sip their breakfast cocktails and marvel at viral videos. (Yesterday’s video featured my nephew’s high school and you can see it right here. It’s amazing.)
Then I quickly switch over to The View, where I get to hear Elisabeth Hasselbeck utter at least one dumb thing a day among all the other banter among the co-hosts. On Wednesday, Hasselbeck actually said something I agreed with and I might have wept just a little.
Then I change the channel to Bravo and there it stays for the rest of the day.
Oh, Andy Cohen, you programming genius. I just cannot quit you.
It takes a lot of white wine to look this crazy.
Right now there are three seasons of my beloved “Housewives” franchises spinning fascinating story lines. Will Alexis of Orange County forgive all the other housewives for outing her as a phony bragger during their dinner in Costa Rica? Will Countess Luann and the pinot-grigio-drenched Ramona actually come to blows in the middle of Central Park in New York? When will the feud between Teresa and all the other New Jersey wives come its explosive conclusion?
Who really cares, you ask? Great question.
Unfortunately, I DO. So much so I even watch the reruns.
The addiction doesn’t stop with Housewives. I hang on every real estate deal closed on “Million Dollar Listing.” I root for Rosie Pope to find the solution for all her millionaire maternity clients on “Pregnant in Heels.” I salivate over every ingredient used in every dish created on “Around the World in 80 Plates.”
God help me, you won’t catch me being tardy for the Kim Zolciak wedding party.
I am still doing all my physical therapy every day and hitting every physical milestone in knee surgery recovery. I am reading good books. I am getting chores done around the house as I become more and more mobile. I haven’t turned into a total TV zombie.
Yet.
I just keep telling myself that, just like the Percocet, one day soon I won’t need these shows to get me through the day. One day I will be able to walk away. I am sure this will happen one day.
If for no other reason, one day, I will have to go back to work.
