Prelapse

Within hours of making my big, decisive pronouncement about quitting television, a pattern of undermining thoughts crept in.

(Can you call it a relapse if you haven't even officially quit yet?)

It startled me out of sleep at 2:00 in the morning. Pan over Meredith's face, her perpetual look of concern mingled with confusion. Brakes screech. A distant siren is heard. Start signature voice-over:

"As surgeons, we all wonder... what will happen to Karev? Will he stay with Lexie or will she get back with Sloan? And Avery - will he finally hook up with Yang or will she stay with Hunt? How about Arizona and Torres? Will they have a baby? Will they adopt or have Sloan be the father? And what about Teddy? How will Teddy fit in?"

My heart was racing, beating to the rhythm of one recurring thought: I can't quit before finding out how all this resolves!

The sad thing is how this happened, sincerely, in the dark of night, the same way fears about my real life happen. Like they really matter enough to stay awake all night and ponder. As I tried, in vain, to implement the strategies my shrink has taught me for coping with negative thoughts ("Deep breath in ... feel the cool air from the ceiling fan. Smell the pomegranate lotion ... focus on my breath... focus on my breath...") a barrage of questions in rapid fire flashes accompanied by IMDb-like stills from nine more of my favorite shows:


What will it take for Jax to get his son back?

Will divorced Don Draper be as sexy as cheating-on-his-prissy-wife Don Draper?

Will Addison adopt Dale's now-orphaned daughter?

Did Jessie kill Gale or just maim him?

Will Alicia leave her worthless corrupt politically driven husband?

Will Crosby follow Jasmine to New York? Will Coach and John McClane's ex in Die Hard resolve their marital strife?

Who will win? I think it will be Kenny, but will it be Angelo? Will he and Tamesha hook up? (And can I really give up hearing sexy Eric Ripert's little Frenchy accent as he tries, always, to find something nice to say about the food?)

What will Kenneth/Liz/Jack/Tracy/Jenna/Pete/Grizz/Toofer/Frank say next?

What will Phil Dunphy say next?

Television really does have me in its grip. I keep thinking about it as something I'll be missing with an intensity that some people reserve for when their kids go off to college.

And so I wonder. In the aftermath of my divorce, followed by a mid-life move to a region where, for a complex array of reasons, I've found it difficult to make new friends, is my addiction to television any surprise? Has it become my crutch? My security blanket? An impenetrable wall topped with razor wire around the fortress of my heart?

Or am I even now under the influence of the boob toob and just being melodramatic?

As I stand on the proverbial treadmill, talking myself into and out of quitting TV, I know this. It's much safer to get absorbed in the invented drama of television than to take emotional risks in real life.