A to Z: Determinations and Predispositions

DNA is the building block of every living thing.  Our DNA determines our hair color, eye color, and our tendency to break out in hives before any public speaking.  It determines how tall we are going to be, the color of our skin, and even shoe size.  My DNA even determined that I would be round, despite my efforts to the contrary.

All the research into DNA has found other things as well.  Who gets certain types of cancer can be located in our DNA. Doctors can find out if a baby has any sort of birth defects before they are even born.  Scientists have found that there are genes that predict some mental disorders, such as depression. They can even tell if a person will become an addict; a certain gene indicates a predisposition toward addiction. 

The vast amount of research and discovery is awe-inspiring, and it leads to some positive outcomes. People with a genetic predisposition toward a particular disease can actively work toward preventing that disease, or at least lessening the effects.  That's why Angelina Jolie had her double mastectomy; she carries the gene for breast cancer, and she wanted to prevent it.  People with a predisposition for heart disease can change their diet and start exercising to help themselves.  Couples who know they carry the genes for diseases like cystic fibrosis can make informed choices about having children. 

Knowledge is power.

Sometimes I think that people get confused about those predispositions, however.  A person who has the gene for addiction, for example, might decide that they have no choice in the matter.  They may believe that they will be an addict, and there's nothing they can do or say to change that.  That isn't necessarily true.  A predisposition does not mean that you will have the disorder.  It means that you may.  A genetic predisposition is a maybe, and that allows for some choice in the matter, particularly for something like addiction. 

We all have choices, no matter our genes.  To believe differently is to deny the responsibility that we all have to ourselves to be the best we can be.  Yes, some of us may have the gene that indicates a problem with addictions.  But we do have some measure of control. We don't have to drink that first beer at all.  We can stay away from the break room where the doughnuts are stationed.  We can make the choice to say no. We have that control over ourselves.  And if we are addicted to something, despite our best efforts, we can choose to work hard to overcome that addiction, accepting that it may be a long battle.  We have control over that, too.

Knowledge is power, if you put it to good use.

Mamakat: Vices

 Mamakat's Prompt:   What is the one vice you can't give up?

I used to have a lot of vices. Chocolate. Drinking. Pens. Dancing. Fried food. Loud music. Mosh pits.  One by one, either by choice, or by the recommendation of my physician,  I've put aside most of these overindulgences.  I may have the occasional chocolate binge, but I can mostly walk by the candy aisle without a glance.  Moderation is my mantra these days, and if I can't be moderate, then I have just gone cold turkey.

Except for buying books.

I am a book junkie. I simply love the feel of books in my hands. The feel of the hard edges, the binding. Sliding my finger across the text. The smell of the paper.  The ruffling sounds of the pages as I turn them.  It really doesn't matter what the book is about.  I just have to have it.  I have travel books. Foreign language books.  Graphic novels. Cookbooks. Textbooks. I have purchased Fix-it and Do-It-Yourself manuals-as if!  I have enough books for a small town library.  Just in case. Screw looking stuff up on the internet--I want to hold the secret to building the perfect insect collection in my own hot little hands.

All those books cost money, of course.  Finances were thin for awhile in our house, so I tried to just go to the library.  I thought perhaps it was having things to read that was the fix for me.  Nope.  Then I tried going to the half price store, until I realized that I was buying twice as many books because they were cheaper.  Eeek! 

I finally had to face it: I cannot go into a store without buying at least one book. I tried to stop.  I tried to just not go to bookstores at all.  Borders probably went out of business because I banned myself. It was tough love. And it was pure futility.   Do you know how many stores have books?  Home Depot has books.  Best Buy has books.   Pet Smart has books.  The grocery store has books, too!  They're like magnets, pulling me inexorably toward them, even if I've never been in that store before. 

In the grand scheme of things, however, are books such a horrible vice to have?  I've thought about it for quite some time.  I can't see myself in a 12-step program for bibliophiles.  If one even exists.   I can't see my doctor telling me to stop reading books because they are bad for my health.  He actually even recommended that I buy a book when I was there for my last visit.  He even wrote it down on a prescription pad.  I wonder if my insurance covers Sugar Busters. 

My addiction to books is just something that I have to learn to accept about myself, instead of feeling guilty.  Moderation is the key.  I need to set a goal for myself, just like a diet, and work on getting there as best as I can.  Slow steps, perhaps some visualization exercises, some yoga, or meditation might help.

Wait--aren't there books on that?

Sometimes I Use Bad Words

Hi. My name is Tina and I am addicted to bad words. There will be some minor profanity present in this post. Also, I may not be coherent; I am very tired.

I said my first curse word before the age of ten. I got that word from my mother, who occasionally exclaimed "shit" when she would see the messy state of my room. Other words soon followed.

Curse words were fun to say around your friends, fun to write on desks and walls, fun to mumble when the teacher reprimanded you. Everyone was doing it!! Behind that feeling of fun was the danger of being caught speaking or writing curse words. That made it even MORE fun to use those words.

In college, I let loose and cursed only as much as the other women I hung out with did. It was like smoking a cigarette for me--say a few curse words and release that tension. Much better than nicotine. In grad school, I cursed because everyone else in the bar did that. That's sort of the secret language of bartenders, especially when nobody's tipping. At that point, I was mainlining those curse words every chance I got.

And then it all had to change. I started working for a school district. I started trying to clean up my language. I had to go cold turkey, otherwise I was afraid that I would slip up. I was successful, for the most part. I have also been pretty good at watching my sporadic cursing around Zane, using colorful 'alternative' words. It is somewhat ironic/annoying to me that my husband is the one who chastises me for my occasional use of bad words in front of our son. Larry cusses like a lonely sailor on shore leave--he just doesn't do it around Zane. But this is about me. I had to admit I had an addiction to cursing after this particular event.

It was seven thirty in the morning a few years ago. I was at my elementary campus, waiting in the conference room for a meeting to start. All was quiet; the only ones nearby were the secretaries.

I was still sleepy, because my circadian wake up time is ten in the morning. Because I was still sleepy, I had one of those gigantor cups of coffee. I had it sitting next to me while I typed on my laptop. My cell phone rang and in the general melee which occurs whenever I have to answer a phone, I knocked over that gigantor cup of coffee.

On my laptop.

Under the circumstances, I did what any normal person would do: I yelled 'Fuck!' word at the top of my lungs. (okay, maybe a normal person wouldn't yell the 'F' word, but they would definitely yell a word.)

The second the word left my mouth, I wanted it back.

I wasn't at home.

I wasn't with friends.

I was at work.

At an elementary school.

I didn't want to talk to that caller anyway, I decided. It was probably some parent with a complaint about a report.

I was mortified, suddenly more concerned about what I said than about my laptop. What if a kid had been out in the office with their parents? What if it was an impressionable child, with autism, who liked words to stim by? I had visions of a little blonde boy flapping his hands and saying "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" for two hours. If anyone had heard me, I was going to be pilloried.

Luckily, the secretaries were the most wonderful people in the world. Either that, or they were used to people screaming obscenities, but let's think positively in this case.

I've come to realize that sometimes, a bad word is the only word that fits the situation. I'm not going to tell anyone which situations might apply; everyone has their individual tipping point, and I don't want to cast aspersions on anyone. Those who occasionally cuss know what I am talking about.

And let's get it out there: sometimes it feels VERY good to say a bad word. It releases from your mouth and carries with it something that might have been bothering you. A good curse word sometimes acts like a pressure valve, releasing the frustration within you that is about to blow up in your face.

I don't mind if other people curse, in fact I sometimes stand close to them just so I can inhale the smoke of their profanity and gain some vicarious enjoyment.

If that's not an addict, I don't know what is. I wonder if anyone will come up with a patch for cursing. You could wear it over your mouth to keep you from cursing. Or it could give you an electric shock when you do curse. I would wear one!