I'm going through withdrawal. David and I decided to give up TV for Lent...and maybe forever. So yesterday we unplugged the huge black TV I inherited from a friend and wheeled it into the closet. Now the wall in the living room is bare and empty. I feel lost and disoriented. What are we supposed to do now while we're eating dinner? Sit down at the table and talk?
We've been considering getting rid of the TV for a long time--as long as we've been married. But we couldn't wean ourselves off the The News Hour with Jim Lehrer or Antiques Roadshow (okay, we're geeks). Too often, we'd find ourselves on the couch long after The News Hour was over, surfing the channels trying to find anything intelligent to watch, with no success. So we'd end up watching "What Not to Wear" (Why do Stacy and Clinton make everyone look THE SAME)? or "Flip This House" (Will they get it done on time and within budget???!! The suspense!) Our addiction was sucking our souls dry. So we did it. We went cold turkey and put the thing in the closet.
I think mainly I'm afraid. Afraid that the house will be too quiet. That David and I won't have enough to talk about. Afraid that I'll become bored. That maybe I'll have to listen to God more and I won't like what he has to say. Afraid that I'll have to face some things I've been avoiding. Because when you're addicted to something, it's usually because you're avoiding something else.
I'm hoping to read more, write more, workout more. Maybe in a year I'll morph into a svelt novelist who's read the complete works of Derrida. Who knows. In any case it has to be better than a glassy-eyed couch potato who's seen every episode of What Not to Wear.
2 comments:
Geeky I suppose, but part of our fascination with the NewsHour was trying to figure out what's up with Margaret Warner's hair, poofy in the wrong places, one day with bangs the next swept up tsunami-style. Meg baby! It's a new century! In fact, it's been one for 7, maybe 6 years, and yet your head is snagged in a time warp with June Cleaver in pearls serving the boys a roast.
No Derrida, please, it'll make you feel like your brain is on the outside of your head and that's just not a good look for you.
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