Monday has come and gone. Tuesday was yesterday. And I have nothing to report. Why? I'll tell you why. Because of that nasty little concept called the rerun. While I usually have access to a hearty helping of How I Met Your Mother on CBS (Mondays), and a delightful double-dosage of overly-dramatic MTV "reality" on Tuesdays (The Hills and The City, respectfully), it's been two days and I've got nothing. And I have to confess, I'm not feeling too good. I'm not gravely ill, but I've definitely felt better. Could there be a correlation here? Have I grown so dependent on my weekly tv-watching that my body has conditioned itself to respond negatively when a rerun occurs? I think it's quite possible.
I should be watching Barney Stinson reciting a new theory about women that is sure to be legen--wait for it--dary. I should be watching Audrina Patridge stare blankly at Justin Bobby and for the billionth time wonder, "Did I sort of make a mistake in sort of calling off our sort of relationship?" I should be watching Olivia Polermo eye-slap her "coworker" at Elle for telling her how to do her "job."
Is it too much to compare this situation to withdrawal from heroine? I didn't think so. Let's go with the whole "television is like a drug to me" thing. And I realize that a rerun is better than no show at all. But would a dedicated addict use last week's syringe to inject last week's heroine? It's not healthy. It's not sanitary. And it just doesn't feel as good as a fresh hit. That is all.
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