The more I read about the Substance, and how it makes you forgo social events and forget to eat and want to clutch it close to you and to think about it always and to know it is really the thing that understands not just you but everything best, even when it's sometimes clearly not good for you, the creepier my dawning knowledge becomes, that I am feeling exactly this way for the book - Infinite Jest, that is - and that reading about people trying to overcome the Substance is becoming more and more this gloomy omen of the horrible day when I finish it, which at the rate of my consumption is rushing upon me much too quickly, and each chapter foreshadows those bleak days of withdrawal I'll be facing thereafter. Enjoying was the word to describe my attachment to it only a short while ago; god, I was actually reading it casually. Some unholy verb that communicates how craven and unhealthy this relationship has become would be more appropriate at this juncture, and I don't even want to articulate it because that would be some kind of admittance of a problem.
I dropped my copy on the floor the other day and it sounded like a thunderclap. I jumped fully off the ground in surprise.