the crack that is television

As the end of the television season comes to a close before summer I look forward to it more than Christmas. I can practically taste the moment when I will be set free from its chains so that I can be some semblance of the literate person that I actually am. The stack of books waits as impatiently as I do. The day the DVR is clear is the pinnacle of relief.

All summer I cram as many books into my brain as possible, to the point of anxiety because I know I will read a third of my ambitions. But for those three months or so I feel like the nerd I am and love.

And now. The encroaching tv season is slithering its way back into my life, cleverly presenting me with only three premiers this week - just enough to solidify the illusion that I don't have a problem. I hate that I love television so much.

And so it gloriously (and simultaneously shamefully) begins - the weeks of endless DVRing, "catching up", and fast-forwarding through commercials. The not-so-tiny hard drive will bring me much happiness but with it comes oppression as well, until next summer when I'll be free for a little while again and can prove to myself that all of my intelligence hasn't evaporated.