I am an addict. I officially give myself up to a higher power. I am out of control. It is not OxyContin, not heroin, not Dewar’s scotch, not even 12 packs of ice-cold Rolling Rock.

It is Amazon.com and I am powerless. On Sunday morning I ordered more than $100 worth of books and CDs. Like I needed them.

It all started several months ago with Dennis Lehane, an author who writes crime novels set in familiar Boston neighborhoods. The more background information I read about him, the more I needed to read his books. I made the mistake of going to Amazon.com for the first time. They had each and every one of his books there, all available at the touch of a finger: “A Drink Before the War,” “Darkness,” “Take My Hand,” “Sacred,” and “Gone, Baby Gone.” It’s not like a bookstore where they might have one or two Elmore Leonards, a couple of Robert B. Parkers or one Stephen Hunter book.

Amazon.com had all of them … at the touch of a finger. All you need is a credit card. I have several, unfortunately.

Click.

I got them all. Had to have ’em.

You talk about Christmas morning. What about going to the post office and finding a box full of new books? What a delicious pleasure reading one fabulous book in bed, with three more by the same author, lying on the bed stand, just waiting. Took me weeks to read them all.

But Amazon.com didn’t wait until I was done reading. These guys are good. They knew they had a live one. They e-mail you “suggestions” and reports on “people who ordered Dennis Lehane also ordered … James Ellroy.” You probably knew that Ellroy, a very sick writer who has an unhealthy attraction for dismemberment, penned the book on which the masterful movie “L.A. Confidential” was based. I didn’t.

Click.

There they were, all available at the touch of a finger. I lined them up, “White Jazz.” “The Big Nowhere.” “The Black Dahlia.” “Killer on the Road.” “Clandestine.” “American Tabloid.”

Click.

Had to have them. I read the “Black Dahlia” and “American Tabloid,” both classics. With four unread books, which will keep me busy for half the summer, I thought I was safe.

Then came another e-mail.

“People who order James Ellroy also order … Daniel Woodrell, Steve Hamilton and Rick Riordan. ”

Now, I have never heard of these guys. But when you’re a true addict, it really doesn’t matter. Hey, summer vacation is coming. I have an inordinate fear of being stuck in a sailboat, campsite, relative’s house or motel room with nothing to read.

Click.

I ordered Hamilton’s “The Hunting Wind,” Woodrell’s “Tomato Red,” “Give Us a Kiss” and Riordan’s “The Devil Went Down to Texas” and “The Last King of Texas.” If you order CDs and books at the same time, shipping is free. I had to order some old favorites from the Clancy Brothers, including the classic “Risin’ of the Moon.” Something to bore people with at the St. Patrick’s Day party, while I’m crying and baying at the moon.

That was more than $100. Had to have ’em.

I dread the next e-mail from my tormentors. “People who bought Daniel Woodrell, Steve Hamilton and Rick Riordan also bought …”

There is no end in sight.

I will have to exhibit some self-control, cut up my credit cards or disconnect my e-mail. Possibly all three.

Naaaah.

I’ll order new bookshelves.

From Amazon.com.

Click.