I haven’t blogged the last few days due to a springtime cold, or maybe allergies. It started off as a low-grade fever, and worked its way down to my lungs, where all my illnesses seem to go. I’ve spent a lot of time resting up, then thinking I was better, then being under the weather again. So, it’s not exactly the way I wanted to spend my 3 days off.
I’ve watched a lot of television Saturday and Sunday. A lot of television. I usually limit my TV watching to a few (maybe 4 or 5) hours a week, and even then, I’m often doing something else, like chatting online or writing a blog as I listen halfheartedly to the program (usually facing away from the TV. But I was sick, and it seemed like a good time to allow myself to become a vegetable.
Most of the TV I watch is on my old pal, Netflix. I watch whole series, from beginning to end. Most recently, I discovered Doctor Who, and have watched the run from its 2006 rebirth, to 2012 (it’s all that Netflix has available so far). I finished watching those episodes a few months ago and began watching BBC’s Doctor Who spinoff “Torchwood” (observant readers, and those “in the know,” will notice that Torchwood is an anagram for Doctor Who). It’s not a great program, but compelling in its own way, especially for sci-fi/fantasy nerds like me. It’s kind of like “X Files” meets “The Mod Squad” (think alien-fighting special ops police).
This is, in itself a fine idea. My problem was (1) I was sick, and (2) I watched about 14 episodes over two days. Have you ever been sick with a fever, and have something imprint itself on your brain? I think even without the fever, this might have happened. It’s like eating donuts. Having a donut or two is fine. But sitting on the couch and eating fourteen donuts? It leaves you feeling just gross, and indigestive, and having irritating dreams of alligator cops fighting the pickle people in the sewers of Cairo, Egypt. The first time I did it, I was about 11 years old, and was reading the novel The Deep (by Jaws author Peter Benchley), right after Christmas. I got the flu, but kept reading. Before long, I dreamt of escaping underwater graves, with little relief, for about 48 hours.
I never knew you could overeat television, but I guess I did that very thing yesterday. All night, I tossed and turned, and was angry with Owen the prickly doctor, and enamored with Tosh the computer geek, and had to keep aliens out of the area. My brain couldn’t resolve the overabundance of “Torchwood,” so it did the next best thing–it forced me to mentally puke it up all night long. Then I dreamed about Don and Mel Martin, old classmates, who were buying llamas to give to their daughters. Whatever.
So, yeah. I overate television. It seemed good at the time. Maybe it wasn’t my wisest choice. Are you what you eat, even when you’re “eating” a bunch of not-very-good TV shows? Maybe you are, in your dreams. Tomorrow I’m going back to work. I don’t feel “hungry” at all today, and I may not even “eat” tomorrow.