I really do watch an inordinate amount of television. At this moment, I’m killing time with Iron Chef America: Battle Tomato while Treeman: Search for the Cure (a documentary about an Indonesian man covered in branchlike warts) is recording on TLC – and I’m still trying to decide whether or not I’m going to delve into tonight’s prerecorded 60 Minutes.
I’m perpetually conflicted about my couch potato tendencies, though obviously not bothered enough to turn the damn box off. Occasionally I entertain fantasies of giving it up – for Lent, or something – contemplating the myriad accomplishments that would certainly manifest: maybe I’d finally assemble my wedding photo album, take up knitting, struggle past page nineteen of Ulysses. Usually this Spartanic delusion comes after I’ve powered through a week’s worth of Oprah episodes – kind of like how I routinely resolve to give up sugar after eating half a package of Oreos. By the next morning, I’m already looking forward to the next mindless viewing binge.
In order to assuage my guilt, I usually try to accomplish little tasks while watching. Tonight, in typical compulsive-multitasking style, I’m uploading pictures to create a hardbound photo book for my parents, while also composing the wisdom herein. If I weren’t a bit hampered by the glass of wine and mound of pasta I downed earlier, I would also be warming clothes in the dryer to fold. But then again, that would mean I’d have to fold them.
2 years ago
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