The night I set my alarm so I’d wake up when my lives refilled, I knew I had a problem.
I can usually resist whatever social game zeitgeist is swarming through Facebook. I had no interest in keeping a virtual farm with the help of those people I haven’t spoken to since high school. I got bored with Bejewelled ten years ago. I don’t even like playing multi-player mainstream games, I’m an introverted only kid, I like to play by myself. At first, it was no issue for me to avoid the Crush.
Then, one by one, my entire friends list fell down the candy hole. First it was the former Facebook farmers. Then the meme lovers. Then the entire P-Mag editorial staff and at least half the writers. I had to see what I was missing. (Related: I’ve heard that Breaking Bad is pretty good!) So I gave in, and thought I’d play just a couple of levels.
Fast forward, three weeks later. I’m playing that stupid fucking game every minute I’m not working, sleeping, or doing chores. I’m seeing candy behind my eyelids when I blink. I’m buying a surprising amount of Twizzlers and Dots at the store. I’m avoiding eye contact because I can’t stop thinking about how fucking impossible it is to get past level 33, and I don’t understand why these people around me want to talk about other things.
Recognizing the signs which led to the Angry Birds Incident of ’10, I knew I had to stop. Cold turkey. I had to ignore the requests, lives, and power-ups my friends list offered up every time I logged on to Facebook. I had to resist the urge to think that just because Hillary had made it three times further than I had into the bowels of Candy Crush, I had to catch up with her. It was hard. But I did it. And now I feel cleaner, I am stronger, and my breath no longer smells like Twizzlers all the time.
By the way, have you heard of this game called Dots?