Tuesday, February 18, 2014

On a Binge

Isn't there something in all of this addiction education about the part of our brain that regulates when we tell ourselves "no"?
I think there is.  I'm too tired to Google it, frankly.  Want to know why?

I just spent the last.
Watching an entire television series.

Granted, the series only lasted a season... as it should have because it was total malarkey -but still:  STILL.

I didn't tell my brain "no."  Not even once.  I had a stomach bug yesterday, and I just watched and watched.
And today I didn't have a stomach bug, but I watched some more.

Last week (or was it two weeks ago?) I watched 6 hours of a British TV show.  CHAINFULLY!

I DO this.  I do this.
I love stories.  I love them.  I'm picky about characters, mostly.  Plots?  They could be absolute malarkey (see above ^^^^) but if I fancy the characters, I can't stop watching. 

And just as our infamously immortalized creepy kid-friend says, "I see dead people," I'm here to announce that "I become obsessed over fake people."

In High School, I was religious about Maury and watched so many episodes that I once busted out in the middle of my honors English class with a pretty dead-on "Upset Audience Member" impression that no one ever let me forget.
Was it MY fault Brandon decided to make his book report on Oedipus Rex LIVE and turn it into a really twisted rendition of Jerry Springer involving members of my own peer group?  No!  Okay?  I couldn't help busting out widdit.

Says the crazy, white mathlete.
(and for the record, you could remove the comma between "crazy" and "white" and still have a pretty accurate description of me.)

Which brings me to my next point: I kind of adore acting.
Which is actually -if you think about it -my first point... I love characters.

The truth is I have different personas I bust out on my kids and husband when I get in a rut, when I get tired of hearing my own voice my own way.  I make up stories constantly.

And I watch stories constantly.

I have since I was tiny.  Little.  Little tiny.
When the mother raising you is a brain-trauma survivor and doing her best to simply try and cope with life, you sorta spend a lot of time watching TV.
The good thing is I loved it. (The bad being, of course, that I operated under the false belief that my mother hated me so much she made me watch TV.  I thought she loved me so much she let me watch TV.  So that's something worth celebrating, right?)  I loved every minute of it.  I loved Bonanza the most and Sleeping Beauty on special occasions.  My first crush was MacGuyver and my second was Uncle Jesse from Full House.

And I'm just coming here to tell you this because after spending two days watching a show full of amazing characters and a flimsy plot line...
I am angry.
At myself?  No.  At the STUPID WRITERS OF THE SHOW because the ending was so ridiculous and stupid!  SO STUPID!
My stomach bug was better than that ending.

I'm just a little surprised at the reaction I'm having to this.  Yes, it's partially hormones.  But the other partially is just... me. 

How is my story addiction serving me?
Welp, I can quote a lot of movies and quote them well AND use voices.  So... I'm pretty indispensable in the case of the apocalypse.  Let's face it, with all that mayhem swirling around, the voice of funny-girl entertainment is going to be ranked right up there with the voice of reason and the lady who stowed away a million kegs of lipstick to use for trading.

That's all I have to say tonight.
That I have a problem and this is my "writing about problems" place.
And Bonanza NEVER let me down this hard.  Pa Cartwright would never ever.

And maybe I'll just start writing my own television series about a crazy white comma optional girl who grew up in a rigid home watching hours of CMT and eventually married a man who turned out to have a sexual addiction and the end -whatever it may be -will leave the readers fully satisfied and feeling complete because even in the plot line is flat line, the characters are pretty characteristic.

And really: that's what I love most about my story.
The characters.

Admission: I do binge on my own characters, and I've never had enough of the smallest one these days.  Seriously, can 14 month olds BE anymore awesome?  Best inventions ever. 
When it comes to characters in stories -be they small or tall or addicted or lonely or absolutely certain they were a dog in another life -I can't say no.

I can't say no to characters or people.
It's one of my God qualities, I think.  God feels that way about us... that intense interest.
He just doesn't BINGE CHAINFULLY because He already know how all the series in the whole entire world end.  Super jealous of that, by the way.

I'm just glad that even as I binge on TV and try to figure out the waters of depression (Vitamin D, more walks, leafy greens, surrender y prayer, tissues...) He is here. 
Binging on me always.
It sounds weird, but it brings me an inordinate amount of comforting safety.

1 comment:

  1. I just say a shirt this week that said,

    Let's Eat Grandma.
    Let's Eat, Grandma.
    Commas save lives.