One Does Not Simply…

Like Things Anymore.

I swear to God that it’s impossible for me to get into anything without a friend calling me “obsessed.”

Because I watch all five seasons of Flashpoint, I’m obsessed. Because I buy a couple books by Richard Hammond after watching Top Gear, I’m obsessed. Because I watch an episode of Sherlock that I’ve seen quite a few times, I need to “take a breather.”

Should I have stopped watching a show after really liking the first couple episodes? When you open a bag of chips, do you eat a couple crisps and then put the bag away so you don’t look hungry?

I don’t fuckin’ get it.

I shouldn’t get defensive or offended, but seriously, what the hell?

Why is it weird or wrong or obsessive to experience something, find that you really enjoy it, and then continue to experience it so that the enjoyment also continues?

How do you ever discover new things?

So glad early explorers weren’t concerned with being perceived as “obsessive” when they decided to further check out some land, even though the land on which they were standing was perfectly fine.

Why do producers even produce more than a few episodes of shows? I mean, obsessed much? Why do authors write more than one book with the same main character? Hello, get a life. And don’t even get me started on bands who write more than one album. What are you trying to do?!

Oh, the best one I’ve gotten so far is “London Looney” after posting a photo on Instagram.

Welp. I’ll see you guys when I come back from treatment of my London addiction. Luckily for me, the best treatment is exposure therapy.

One day, I’ll have the strength to overcome my passion for film, television, music, and other media, but until I die, happily consider me a weak sonovabitch.

Laters.

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