I have an addiction.
I get my fix a couple times a week, delivered to my mailbox in tiny plastic baggies.
I open them at once, dumping the contents all over my computer desk.
I try to keep my children from getting their hands on them; if I drop some, I get down on my hands and knees and make sure I get every last bit off the floor.
I don’t think it’s taken over my life. Yet.
But it’s starting to take over my desk.
I need to move my stash somewhere bigger, more private, away from prying eyes and little fingers.
And then it might take over my life.