Something that has been keeping me going through all of the past month of hell is sobbing in a fetal position while hideously drunk television. Good, old-fashioned, TV. TV-known here as the "telly", which is a term that I can't bring myself to say-has saved me in many ways.

They have an expression here for kids, in which they tell them that too much TV makes your eyes square. If that's the case, then I'm going to go by "Rubik's" from now on, because the TV has become my soulmate. Books I've been avoiding, because they involve thoughts (but I have some major thanks going out to some people soon for them, I promise, as I'm getting back to bookland now.)

Of course, I kept watching Wedding TV, and Extreme Home Makeover was a good one to stick by, but my choices started running out. I went through all my DVD collections-Firefly, Dead Like Me, Wonderfalls, and 24. I watched the sweet film that Caltech Girl sent me (back in the good days of Steve Martin, before he became the creepy guy in Shopgirl).

But then I ran out of options, and was left to think.

Thinking is bad. Very bad.

So I resorted to regular TV.

First I discovered Scrubs, the ridiculous show with manic characters that has got to be the single biggest brain check-out known to mankind. It was perfect. I watched three whole seasons of it in the space of a weekend. I don't remember a single fucking episode but at least I wasn't sobbing, so hey-win/win situation.

I also discovered the English show here called How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?, a show started up by Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber when the would-be star of his West End November launch of The Sound of Music, Scarlett Johansson, dropped out last minute. He then decided he wanted to cast an unknown and held auditions all across the UK. This show was about exactly that-auditioning who would play Maria in his production. Now, in general, I can't stand reality shows. I could give a shit who America's Next Top Model is. I hope the raft sinks on Survivor. They should nail the door shut on the Big Brother house.

But I fucking loved the Maria TV show.

Two shows every Saturday night in which they would destroy a woman's West End dream-this was the one thing I would be guaranteed to watch. I even became a bit like a sports fan, I would scream and swear and cheer at the TV. They had a hideously haughty Romanian chick that I couldn't stand and when she finally got voted off I screamed and danced with Gorby, singing "Ding Dong, The Romanian Bitch Is Gone" (which both doesn't work and sounds horribly anti-Romanian, which I guarantee you I am absolutely not, I just hated her.) The show ended Saturday night, unfortunately, but I loved it while it lasted.

I have started watching a quirky little show that I really love called A Town Called Eureka (which I think is called in the rest of the world Eureka). It's weird, it's different, and for reasons I can't articulate, I like it even more than I like Pop-Tarts.

It doesn't mean everything I watched was a success. I saw the first episode of Out of Practice and nearly hung myself in the garden after it, it was that terrible. Same goes for Hope and Faith, or Faith and Hope, or Jesus Christ What a Fucking Annoying Show, whatever it was called. I learnt that some TV is so unbelievably desperate it would lead one to yearning for old-fashioned radio TV programmes again (The Shadow Knows!)

We watch Life Begins (but only because we like to imitate Alexander Armstrong and walk around going: "MAG-gaaaaaaay.") We watch the new season of Extras (always rely on Ricky Gervais for the uncomfortable). CSIs got watched, including the Miami one, which makes me feel like I need a shower.

Yesterday, Angus was away and I got a blissful and peaceful day to myself, which I spent watching 9 episodes of Gilmore Girls on our SkyPlus (the English TiVo). It was nice but I have to say-at the end of it, I really hated that whiny little Rory so much it was unbelievable. I usually don't mind Rory. I generally think Rory is ok. But after 9 episodes you really hate that Plato-reading bitch, and have thus promised to limit myself and never have a Gilmour Girls marathon again.

And then the worst thing in the world happened.

I was out of TV again.

Even after my dad came, delivering Desperate Housewives, Lost, and more. I was getting confronted by my thoughts, which is never a good thing, it only leads to endless Googling and more chablis bad thoughts.

But then J came through. She sent me Arrested Development, which came just in time. I breathed a sobbing sigh of relief upon sight of it, I've never heard of the show but it sounds just like my kind of thing.

It came in the nick of time.

I was so desperate I was nearly ready to move on to 7th Heaven*, and we all know what kind of nightmare depression that would've led to.

-H.

PS-this may be the last time I talk about the Bad Times for a while. In our house, we're trying to move on now. Thanks to a plan, more DVDs, and a bracelet, we're doing a good job of it. If you've sent me an email, I'm sorry I've been a shit in responding-I'm nearly back to normal most of the time now. Let's see if we can keep that going?

*If I ever reach the stage where I am so depressed I watch 7th Heaven, Touched By an Angel, or Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, please send intervention immediately.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:48 AM | Comments (16) | Add Comment
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