Two Months without Chess

Ahh... banality. I look at the warm, cream-colored face of my watch and think: I have survived the withdrawal phase. The app isn't on my phone, and I no longer launch a game on a separate system when a web meeting drags on. I have alternatives — writing, photography, karate — but they all have friction: setup time, or they look insane on a work call. Chess... man, it was just click and I'm instantly connected with another obsessive weirdo, the classic Star Trek combat music starts, and I have to pay careful attention or I'm a stain on the checkered board. Why did I have to quit? Couldn't I just moderate my playing? Play three games a day, no more? No. I couldn't. I'd last a day or two, then spiral: too many games, exhaustion, rage, self-loathing, rinse and repeat. Some people shouldn't drink. I shouldn't play online chess. I remember one of my last games: A guy was beating me, and near the end he screwed up and I won. He typed in the chat "You got lucky," and while I normally ignore…