I've been watching too much. What got me sucked into it was watching an episode or two of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with John and deciding I liked it enough to want to catch up with the previous five seasons. That's a lot of catching up, and it's actually possible since both UPN and WB are running episodes. I'm able to watch Buffy several nights a week. And it's fun, it really is, the plots are far more complicated than I realized and all the actors are fun to watch, and I'm sorry, Mo, even after watching almost two seasons' worth of shows I still hate Spike's bad bleach job but yes, he really is great. In fact, I've watched so many shows in the last month that I called my dog Xander yesterday instead of Jasper. Bad sign.

But that's not the only bad effect. All that horror/fantasy tv plus a bunch of Olympics is eating up my evenings and making me feel disgruntled about having to go to work and be an ordinary schlub. I'd rather fight demons or skate like an angel. Instead, I have to deal with a guy who emails me upwards of seven times a day with revisions to his already complicated itinerary. Or I get someone who asks me to find the perfect trip to the Netherlands and rejects every single suggestion. Plus, let's not forget the new computers have been delivered and the DSL line is ready to go but SABRE can't be arsed to get out to our office to do the actual installation so we're still using stone knives and charcoal to get our work done, i.e., 56K modems and 366Mhz. It's so frustrating. So totally unglamorous.

Glad tomorrow's Friday. I can come home and...uh...sit. No, wait, I can read. I have some books that...oh nuts, I need to read ahead in my textbook to get ready for class next week. Well, I can do a bunch of housework and eat healthy food and do something with my garden. Which all sounds too, too utterly dull. And this is a problem. I'm bored with my real life.

Too much tv is like reading too much Georgette Heyer or eating too much chocolate. The pleasure and richness spoils you even while it's making you feel slightly woozy. You want it to always be chocolates and clever rejoinders and invitations to the ridotto, but it can't be. There has to be balance and contrast in order to achieve true satisfaction in life. There has to be failing as well as succeeding, and trying matters more than wishing.

You know, Sarah Hughes must have fallen a hundred million times to get to where she is tonight up on the podium with that big, gleaming gold medal. Joss Whedon probably wrote a few clunkers along the way. I'm going to turn off the tv and take a few spills of my own. I want my own dreams back.

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