Tuesday, Apr. 01, 2003 | 9:47 AM

Last night I sat on my rug and drank a glass of cold white wine. I concentrated on nothing but that wine�the taste of it, the feel of it flowing down my throat and into my belly, liquefying my desires and my sadness.

The wine flows into my empty spaces�the rifts and crevices. It connects what has been cracked, if only temporarily. The wine is a bridge to immediate salvation and well being.

I noticed the relief and immediate calm that blossoms and blooms when watered by a cool dewy glass of Chardonnay. I noticed how very shortly after drinking that glass, I wanted another and another. And then just one more. And soon the bottle was empty.

This is most likely some cause for concern.

The term I believe is High Functioning Addict.