Every once in a while you must step back and examine your life.
Find out whatâ€™s not working or whatâ€™s going wrong and fix it.
I recently realized I have an addiction.
A nasty one, one that wonâ€™t loosen its deadly grip on my esophagus.
Iâ€™m addicted to hot sauce and all things spicy.
It probably all started as a child, when my mother would dice up jalapenos in my morning eggs.
It soon became commonplace to see Jalapenoâ€™s in everything (they definitely found the time to dance around in my dreams, those devilish green sprites!)
Iâ€™m surprised I didnâ€™t keep secret jars of them under my bed; like contraband, like Playboy.
Just this morning, while actually putting more hot sauce on my breakfast burrito then ketchup, I stopped.
I have been putting Vietnamese or Mexican hot sauce on EVERY SINGLE MEAL Iâ€™ve been eating for months now!
I canâ€™t even touch soup without creating a hazy, blood-red hot sauce cloud swirling around like a recent shark attack.
Pizza means nothing to me without slashing the side of a Tapatio bottle and watching the carnage ooze out onto the crust.
Iâ€™m sure I will eventually pay the price. My taste buds are already shot. My stomach lining is most certainly next.