Remember a few months back when I talked about House of Cards? I shared how much I liked that show, how excited I was for the new season. Remember that? Sure. I remember that, too.
Hey, then do you remember how I swore I would never, ever, ever use this blog to talk about television because heaven help us the world is big and beautiful and full of so many three-dimensional, extra-legit things to do and see and look at and we have bodies! Do you remember how I said we have bodies and we’re so lucky to have them and we should use them?? We should use them to leap and shake like the Quakers (or milkshakes, whatever) and spin and at least get off the couch and not watch television for hours and hours, supine, on the couch?? Do you remember that?
Me neither. Because I didn’t say it! I should have. But I did not. And while it can be hard to remember things you did say, it’s harder still to remember things you did not say. In fact… Yeah, gee, I can’t think of anything harder than that. Unless you count…
Well, unless you know how hard it is to stop watching Breaking Bad once you’ve started, once you’ve really started in earnest and fallen irretrievably in love with fictional people who make terrible, terrible decisions, endlessly, with a soundtrack playing in the background and comic relief going for it. Stopping that train once it’s pulled out of that station? Forget it.
Yes, I did what many people told me for years to do: watch Breaking Bad. Ugh. It began… Honestly, I can’t remember. A couple weeks ago? It’s a blur. I said it’s a blur! Stop asking so many questions!
I’ll call Mike!*
Seriously, though: I was feeling soggy and blue, uninspired and feverish. I had no will. Would it last? Surely it wouldn’t, I told myself. But in the meantime, while I wasn’t doing much more than languishing, listless and pale — but somehow still beguiling — on the couch, why not take in a little Netflix? A lot of Netflix. Who would know? It’s not like ever said in black and white in front of thousands of people that I had some moral objection to TV, thank goodness.
Anyway, this show has to end. I’m in Season 5, the last season. I cannot wait for it to be done because it is just too good. I’m not reading or writing. I’m not “going for a jog.” I’m not doing charity work and — horror — I’m not at the sewing machine. I’m just… Embroiled. Bewitched. Chained to a show that features such fine acting and writing, it’s criminal. Which is funny, except my life does not think it’s funny. My life wants my life back.
Also, it does not help that I am in love with the character of Jesse Pinkman and yes, I’m about six years too late and yes, he’s not real, but all he needs is the love of a good woman, okay? And I am that woman! What, you think I can’t be fictional?? You think I can’t have real love for a scripted person in a show that ended five years ago??
It’s a good thing I don’t write about TV shows on this blog, right? Impossible.
*a little Breaking Bad shout-out for my BB peeps