Hello, my name is Bekah, and I'm addicted to iPhone Solitaire.
I have decided to make this confession in the hopes that you will still love me, and that you will also properly ridicule me about it. That seems to be the only means of intervention with any hope of success.
It started as a few games here and there as a relaxing break from iPhone crosswords, but when I finished working through all sixty of the free crosswords, my Solitaire games dramatically increased in number and frequency. I play them any time, any place (well, except church... so far), and lately, Solitaire has even almost completely replaced my bedtime reading routine. It's embarrassing.
What is it that is so addictive about this game? I've pondered that question countless times as I've looked for a Red Eight to place on a Black Nine, or a King to fill a blank spot, or even that fourth missing Ace. Is it the easy, rhythmic nature of play? Is it the quick pace and short timing of the game as a whole? Or is it simply the fact that you can be good - but never good enough to win every time?
Perhaps Solitaire works for me because it lets me occupy part of my brain (and my right thumb) while I process a multitude of other things. See, I may appear to be wasting time on a cell phone game - but I just might be solving the world's greatest problems in the process!
Actually, if this is true confession, I might as well say it. Most of the time, I'm doing exactly what I used to do in junior high as I practiced my jump shot in our driveway: making up my responses in fake television interviews about my stunning performance ability. "Susan, it's not so much the skill of making every move available as the skill of deciding when to use a card and when to let it slip on by." Don't worry - by the end of the internal interchange (as was true in junior high), I've usually decided not to agree to the interview after all, even if they beg me. Too self-promoting.
Occasionally, I also indulge in a bit of memory lane as I tap through the draw pile, and I tend to dwell on those memories related to former card-playing experiences, most of which are directly connected to Mrs. Rose. An elderly lady from my hometown church, Mrs. Rose started inviting me to stay over at her house when I was in 2nd grade, and I continued those visits more or less regularly even through high school. We always did the same thing: play cards and talk into the late hours of the night and throughout the next morning and afternoon, if possible. We preferred Nertz, and I still play solitaire according to her rules (for instance, one wouldn't dream of "undo-ing" a move - once the card has been played, it's been played). So when I play today - even iPhone Solitaire - I often find myself thinking appreciatively of all the things Mrs. Rose taught me and making plans to someday pass on a similar legacy to another young soul.
See? It's not all bad.
But seriously, if you see me doing it, please stop me. If you can.
I have decided to make this confession in the hopes that you will still love me, and that you will also properly ridicule me about it. That seems to be the only means of intervention with any hope of success.
It started as a few games here and there as a relaxing break from iPhone crosswords, but when I finished working through all sixty of the free crosswords, my Solitaire games dramatically increased in number and frequency. I play them any time, any place (well, except church... so far), and lately, Solitaire has even almost completely replaced my bedtime reading routine. It's embarrassing.
What is it that is so addictive about this game? I've pondered that question countless times as I've looked for a Red Eight to place on a Black Nine, or a King to fill a blank spot, or even that fourth missing Ace. Is it the easy, rhythmic nature of play? Is it the quick pace and short timing of the game as a whole? Or is it simply the fact that you can be good - but never good enough to win every time?
Perhaps Solitaire works for me because it lets me occupy part of my brain (and my right thumb) while I process a multitude of other things. See, I may appear to be wasting time on a cell phone game - but I just might be solving the world's greatest problems in the process!
Actually, if this is true confession, I might as well say it. Most of the time, I'm doing exactly what I used to do in junior high as I practiced my jump shot in our driveway: making up my responses in fake television interviews about my stunning performance ability. "Susan, it's not so much the skill of making every move available as the skill of deciding when to use a card and when to let it slip on by." Don't worry - by the end of the internal interchange (as was true in junior high), I've usually decided not to agree to the interview after all, even if they beg me. Too self-promoting.
Occasionally, I also indulge in a bit of memory lane as I tap through the draw pile, and I tend to dwell on those memories related to former card-playing experiences, most of which are directly connected to Mrs. Rose. An elderly lady from my hometown church, Mrs. Rose started inviting me to stay over at her house when I was in 2nd grade, and I continued those visits more or less regularly even through high school. We always did the same thing: play cards and talk into the late hours of the night and throughout the next morning and afternoon, if possible. We preferred Nertz, and I still play solitaire according to her rules (for instance, one wouldn't dream of "undo-ing" a move - once the card has been played, it's been played). So when I play today - even iPhone Solitaire - I often find myself thinking appreciatively of all the things Mrs. Rose taught me and making plans to someday pass on a similar legacy to another young soul.
See? It's not all bad.
But seriously, if you see me doing it, please stop me. If you can.
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