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At first I didn't realize it. Then I tried to ignore it. But eventually, I could not help but admit to my addiction. The substance of abuse came programmed in my new smartphone. It's called Solitaire.

I spent most of my waking moments at home (yet strangely never anywhere else) playing this mindless and repetitive game. From Friday nights to Monday mornings I never left the couch, except maybe to go to the bathroom. I scavenged through the cupboards and refrigerator to find food that took least amount of effort to be consumed. Dishes started piling up then around the sink. Junk mails were scattered everywhere. On nights when I was fortunate enough to find my way to the room in my half sleep, I slept on one side of the bed while the other half of my comforter was weighed down by clothes I had shed off. I knew through it all that this addiction to Solitaire was only a symptom to a bigger and a lot more serious problem--yet another bout of severe depression. I knew, because I played through the half of the games in tears. I knew, too, because I was staring at fluoxetine bottle again.

When she returned my call this evening, I was again sitting on my couch playing Solitaire, holding the phone in one hand and the stylus in the other. Rain was turning into a pour. Suddenly her number--still speed dial #7--popped up in the middle of a three card draw. I tucked the stylus away and answered.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," she said back.

* * * * *

E and I were sitting on the floor of the living room, talking. Television was on for a background noise. We were having yet another conversation about T.

The story about T is complicated and quite stupid. I met him at the tail end of my three year relationship and had introduced him to E, a high school friend of mine. But quite unexpectedly and belatedly, T and I discovered our mutual attraction for each other. First thing I did was to tell E, to come clean before anything got serious. She said she wouldn't see him any more, that she wasn't that attracted to him anyway. I ended my relationship not to be with T but because it had obviously run its course. T and I, well, we never got together. As mutual as our attraction was, so was our incompatibility. At the end of the whole debacle, E and I were roommates.

I was still hung up on T. And because E was the only person who had seen it all, she was the only person I confided in. And that evening, I was doing another spiel of "what if" when she interrupted me.

There's something important to tell me, she said, then confessed that she and T had continued dating for some time afterwards and through our move-in as roommates. I told her that she could have saved me many months of my sanity. With that, I cleared any residue I had left in my mind of T and E and everything involving them. At the end of the lease, E and I parted ways and never saw each other again.

* * * * *

She asked how I was doing and I said I was okay. That wasn't too convincing, she said. I'm not really trying, I replied. We talked on the phone until she got home, mostly about gossip and work. And somewhere in that gossip came my moment of clarity.

"Oh, I wish you would have told me this sooner--I'd been so angry for the last few weeks."

"But it would've made you even more angry," she answers.

"No," I said, "it would have made it burn off faster."

Before getting off the phone, she said, "hey, chin up."

"Thanks," I said with a smile, whether she could see it or not.

The rain, by then, stopped. After getting off the phone, I continued my Solitaire game. I'm not going to quit my addiction in a losing streak, I thought. After a few games, I won. Deal again? it prompted me. With the stylus I clicked No.

I played Mozart's The Magic Flute in my iPod and went about the apartment, cleaning. I took the trash out (all five bags of them), put away all the laundry I left out to hang dry, replacing the empty toilet paper roll with a half a roll that's been sitting on the ledge. The best I saved for last--the dishes. There is something meditative about hand washing the dishes, the very platform onto which we place our food for all its implied significance.

During the two hours or so of clean up I realized--finally, after five months since moving into this place--I could really use some artwork on the walls. Maybe I'll finally frame the John Baldessari poster I have been saving. I could use more color in life. Really.