We all have our legal addictions. Coffee. Chocolate. Even work if you’re really bad at picking something to be addicted to.
Everything in moderation is a concept I never got the hang of. Besides, what’s the crime in some good ole-fashioned escapism?
Now I learn I may have an addiction to TV.
When I was growing up, my dad used to refer to the television as the ‘idiot box” because only hopeless idiots would sit hour upon hour drooling in front of the tube when they could be out enjoying all the things this wide world of wonder can offer.
I knew that I was in trouble this week when the hunky Robert Taylor (check him out above) announced season six of “Longmire” would be his last. He has long been my drug of choice. After learning of his impending demise I wore black for six days in a row and experienced sorrow akin to losing my best friend. I instantly filled the next two weeks in on my calendar with the words “date: Longmire”. It begins Friday and I’m counting the hours. What on earth will I wear?
I canceled all my exciting plans for yesterday and pulled on my Netflix uniform complete with hoodie worn backwards to serve as a popcorn bowl. I set out to re-rewatch the first five seasons and refresh my relationship with Sheriff Hunky.
By 3 p.m., my Netflix marathon was growing a bit stifling. I got up with the intent of putting a couple of dozen steps on my Fitbit. There is a full length mirror at the end of a long hallway and the image it flashed at me was unrecognizable. My complexion had taken on an ashen pallor and I was wearing socks with sandles – a fashion fauxpas I’ve never committed in my 69 some odd years on the planet. And where did that unflattering pair of unmatched pajamas come from? And why was I still wearing them at three in the afternoon?
We’re my eyes crossed a little bit, thereby mercifully preventing my ability to focus? “This has got to STOP,” I pleaded with the image walking toward me. I want my once happy life back! I swore then and there that I would not turn on the blasted idiot box for at least two and a half days until Hunky and his loyal side kick, Henry Standing Bear, return to the air waves.
This will require me to clean up the house and pay my bills and water my thirsty plants and go to the store for pet food and return phone calls and raise my window shades which have been blocking out the sun light or any semblance of the real world. And for Pete’s sake, get dressed in some real clothes, I yelled at Miss Frump! Preferably something without chocolate and peanut butter smears.
Can I do it? Honestly, I’m not certain. If you see me wandering lost around the Piggly Wiggly on the cereal aisle, please be nice. I never ever eat cereal and I’m most likely lost.
My plan for today – take my new rescue puppies to the Noxubee Refuge for a hike. Clean out my refrigerator and restock with something besides TV dinners. Take down Halloween decorations – it’s been over for two weeks and leaving them up til next year wasn’t a good plan.
Call someone for lunch. Maybe read a book. Several months ago my good friend Martha Wells gave me a book entitled “Good Grief” which is an unconventional way to deal with a devastating loss. Lord knows, that’s what I need to get past this loss of my useless life since Netflix and Amazon Prime destroyed my soul.
My advice to you is to never subscribe to Netflix or at least stop tuning in for several days to be sure you don’t have a problem!