When J and I were on our flight back from Buenos Aires in early August, we whipped out my brand new Eva Peron journal (I know, but it was necessary) and did some strategizing. We had enjoyed our time in Argentina so much. I had learned how to say "croissant" in Spanish (medialunas, y'all), and between bottles of malbec and The Most Delicious Sandwich on the Planet (true story), we were finally able to relax for once in our lives. (And dudes, don't get me wrong, I love me some Middle East, but driving through the desert after dark in Jordan does not exactly make one sigh with relief.) (Nor does political unrest in Istanbul, while we're at it.)
Okay, so the moral here? In Argentina, we unclenched. We drank wine, we lounged around. We took meandering walks through Palermo and Recoleta. We saw the most gorgeous, haunting cemetary on earth, and we had the brilliant staff at BoBo to make our stay as comfortable as possible.
And so when we were on our flight home - disappointed to be leaving, but energized - we decided to jot down some goals for ourselves. I'll get into all of those later, but here was one of mine:
Melissa will limit television watching to NO MORE than one hour per day. TV inhibits all productivity.
I started out doing well... But then the fall line-up was all Watch us! We are funny new shows! We are flashing forward into the future! I'm Courteney Cox, and I'm back in primetime! (Oh but FYI, giving up Cougartown will be no hardship. C'est terrible.)
So that happened. Then, lately, I have been ill. And with said illness comes a lack of energy. And with said lack of energy comes a barrage of A Baby Story, and Say Yes to the Dress, and King of The Crown, and old episodes of Jon and Kate Plus 8 (where did it all go wrong, guys?), and Oprah, and Accidentally on Purpose (I heart Jenna Elfman), and How I Met Your Mother (which I will never give up. Don't even think it.) and so many, many more.
Oh, The Biggest Loser.
And sometimes Moving Up on a Saturday.
Am sick. (I even hesitate to write these words, because I know my husband is reading them, and he is going to be all, I told you so, but yes, he told me so.)
So yesterday I was watching Oprah, and crying, because it was the show with the new lead singer of Journey, who grew up poor in the Phillipines, and was all, Good for you, man! You're awesome!
And then I thought about my own awesomeness factor, and how it has plummeted a bit of late. Because I am not out making life happen; I'm watching it happen. To other people. On the talking picture box. Last week, I was in Boston, and I spent ten minutes of my life - precious, precious life - watching Jon Gosselin on ET. The fuck? That motherfucker can't even spell his own name, and yet he is stealing minutes of MY LIFE!? I CAN NEVER GET THAT TIME BACK, JON GOSSELIN.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
I have been feeling down, and I swear to you all: my television is making me depressed.
Now I know some of you out there can likely just watch TV, and be done with it, but I think I am somehow incapable. I am someone who walks into a room and turns on the TV before I put my bag down, as I need the company; the idle chatter serves as reassurance. I can't fall asleep very well without TV, and when a television goes on, I generally stop what I am doing and stare at it. You know how you park your kids in front of the TV when you need a break, and they just sit and stare all open-mouthed and spacy?
I am that child.
And it's high time I really, really limited my telly intake.
So today I woke up resolute. I haven't turned on the tube at all today, and I am trying to get used to the silence. I don't know that it is reasonable to cut out all TV (is that what alcoholics say? I don't think it is reasonable to cut out wine, so I'll just stop with the beer and hard liquor?) But for now, we are going to ONE HOUR, PER DAY.
That means 7 hours per week.
I am going to need your support on this one, Internet. I already feel slightly less sick today, but I know the withdrawal is coming, and I'll try to put on Jeopardy tonight. I musn't!