What sedates you, makes you feel accomplished, and is so addictive that it can absolutely ravish you with self-hatred?
Think about it…
Answer: Streaming TV shows for hours on end. I know of this. Currently, for me, it’s all about Gilmore Girls. My virgin run. We’ll talk about the show later, but for now let’s discuss self-loathing.
Streaming is new to me, and it makes me realize that I like having barriers to bad behavior. At work we’d call these “engineering controls." Kinda like in 2005 when my mom accidentally purchased the complete (Chinese) DVD set of Sex and the City for me. There were three episodes per disc and you needed to navigate the Chinese subtitles off before every episode. Remember back when things were more annoying? Those were the days.
Now?
The Gilmore girls stream by in a dizzying flash. I find a particular mortification, like the collective cringing of all my bodily cells, every time the beloved voice of Carole King booms in for the opening theme song. “If you’re out on the road…” Shhhh, Carole! Can my neighbors hear you? Have they heard you every 43 minutes for the last 3 hours? On scales of 1 to 10, how pathetic am I and how pathetic do I appear? I hope they know it’s my first time, and I’m not, like, a freak who watches all the corny TV shows. I’m allowed my virgin GG run, damn it!
Why am I so angry? Who am I really yelling at here?
Myself, of course.
I see two reasons. For one, I clearly need to stop giving a shit what anyone thinks. Punks, you should be so lucky to hear the affirming hug of Carole King’s pipes every 43 minutes for the last 3 hours. But more importantly, two, I need to develop self-control.
Control of oneself. How do you add it when you lack it? I have it for other things, all kinds of things. You should see me around a dessert table! But for certain things, like fighting inertia in a stream spiral, I need more.
A little voice whispers, “Everyone’s enjoying streaming… it’s normal and okay to zone out like this.” But another voice, sounding like the know-better sneers of harder-working ancestors, suggests my problem is rooted in being too kind to myself already. That voice says my behavior is wrong, and by extension, I'm weak. I hear it wouldn’t be wrong for hard-working people, in moderation. But me? I don’t deserve it.
And they’re right! Look at me. I can’t even stretch while streaming! Or organize something.
“You’re wasting,” they say.
Go away, little voices! I’m learning something here! This is a part of who I have to be, apparently.
God, I hope so. (New mantra: I'm okay this way.) (Voice shouts: You're kidding yourself!)
To its credit, streaming TV shows has brought me to new places. One of those places just happens to be a valley of self-loathing where every three episodes I’m forced to admit YES, yes, I am still watching Gilmore Girls. What of it? Are you judging me, Netflix? Join the club!
I see two reasons. For one, I clearly need to stop giving a shit what anyone thinks. Punks, you should be so lucky to hear the affirming hug of Carole King’s pipes every 43 minutes for the last 3 hours. But more importantly, two, I need to develop self-control.
Control of oneself. How do you add it when you lack it? I have it for other things, all kinds of things. You should see me around a dessert table! But for certain things, like fighting inertia in a stream spiral, I need more.
A little voice whispers, “Everyone’s enjoying streaming… it’s normal and okay to zone out like this.” But another voice, sounding like the know-better sneers of harder-working ancestors, suggests my problem is rooted in being too kind to myself already. That voice says my behavior is wrong, and by extension, I'm weak. I hear it wouldn’t be wrong for hard-working people, in moderation. But me? I don’t deserve it.
And they’re right! Look at me. I can’t even stretch while streaming! Or organize something.
“You’re wasting,” they say.
Go away, little voices! I’m learning something here! This is a part of who I have to be, apparently.
God, I hope so. (New mantra: I'm okay this way.) (Voice shouts: You're kidding yourself!)
To its credit, streaming TV shows has brought me to new places. One of those places just happens to be a valley of self-loathing where every three episodes I’m forced to admit YES, yes, I am still watching Gilmore Girls. What of it? Are you judging me, Netflix? Join the club!
