I think I’m brain damaged. It’s no secret that I get addicted to everything. When I pick up a book that I might enjoy, I know I’m risking losing the next 3-10 hours of my life. And checking out a TV show from the library? Goodbye, George, see you next Thursday. A few examples: Bones. Arrested Development. Stephanie Plum. Harry Potter (though I’m not alone in this one). And now, House. Watched a season (in three days) and suddenly developed a limp and the ability to diagnose someone’s simple cough as the plague.
My obnoxiousness aside, I don’t know that the obsession thing is totally bad – although it does happen with everything. The worrisome part, really, is my inability to believe that anything will ever make me this happy again. Like I’ve just discovered the last good idea in the world, and now that it’s been used up, what’s the point of looking anymore? That sounds far more depressing than it…no, actually, that’s about right. A great book sends me through a manic set of emotions, even if it’s just about a tree.
Do normal people think like this? Is it normal to be so genuinely surprised every time I find a new something wonderful?
Maybe it’s just that I don’t know what to do with myself without a something wonderful. I have no homework, I can only be distracted by, um, work, for so many hours a day. I don’t have a new something wonderful just yet, but I am sort of scheduling my life around Psych and, of course, Harry Potter.