The Idiot Box

black 'n' white kitteh appreesheeayts LOST's allegoreez.

Tuesdays (since February) have generally been "good" days, or rather, good evenings.  One of my foremost reasons for engaging in "symptomatic behavior" is that it qualifies as "me time."  (How many quotations marks can I use in this post?  Let's keep track.  We're at three sets so far in two sentences.)  There are other, normal options to create "me time," like practicing piano, doing yoga, taking pictures, going on a walk, etc.  But the problem with all of those things is that (for me) they take a modicum of L'OrĂ©al-worthy because-I'm-worth-it-ness.  And when you're stuck in "I'm not worth it" mode, as I tend to be when engaging in restricting or binge-purging, it is HARD to get off your petunia and do something to change that feeling.  Not impossible - but hard.

So the easily accessible obsession of addictive fiction - like the final season of LOST, or like discovering serial genre novels in autumn '08 - helps appreciably in creating an at-hand "me activity."  I have a problem with physical things (like yoga, or a walk) acting as "me time" substitutes for symptoms, as they invariably transition into symptomatic behavior.  ("I just walked through Central Park taking pictures for two hours - why should I ruin that with a snack?")  Addictive fiction captures my mind and takes it on an impromptu vacation from all its BS, at least for an hour or so.  And it's hard to pay attention to addictive fiction if your stomach lining is collapsing in on itself in hunger, or if you're stuffing your face.  The optimal place from which to enjoy addictive fiction is a place of comfort.

I'm thinking once LOST is over, it's going to be time to finally get into BSG.

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