Now that spring has finally sprung there is so much to do. The grass is overly tall, the garden is in need of tending, and the mulch huddled together in a pile (a zillion yards away from any landscaping) won't mosey on over to the hydrangeas and spread itself.
And though I really want to finish all these projects that someone else thought I should start (I hate pulling weeds), I am exhausted.
In fact, I think I might be sick.
Or maybe I just ate something that disagreed with me.
It is possible I am avoiding the world. ...
Whatever the reason for my after-the-kids-get-on-the-bus malaise – be it upset stomach or rainy day -- I find myself wanting to just lay on the couch and watch one more episode of Mad Men.
Before I know it, the bus returns with my children and I'm halfway through season two of “How I Met Your Mother.”
I'll just call it Netflix Syndrome. You tell yourself you'll watch just one show before you start your day and before long it's dark out and you've managed to plow though an entire season of 24 in less than a day.
It's embarrassing but true.
Ever since we made the executive decision to cut back on cable by finally embracing on-demand media streaming, I was spending every spare moment binge-watching all the situation dramadies I'd missed during the last decade.
Since 1999, if a show wasn't on HBO on Sunday nights between 9 and 11, I didn't see it.
So … beginning in March I've been making up for lost time.
I've seen every season of Mad Men, Breaking Bad, How I Met Your Mother, Orange Is The New Black, My Name Is Earl, Raising Hope, House of Cards and Lilyhammer.
Between spring cleaning and pool opening, I've tried to like a host of popular shows -- Arrested Development, The Office, Dexter and Parks and Recreation -- but I just couldn't do it. That's like nine-hours of TV hangover time I'll never get back.
It makes me afraid to even attempt Lost until the possibility exists that we might be snowed in.
And even though I've been mesmerized of late, I've also had my eyes opened to some stunning coincidences and the sad reality that I might have named my son after a television character I had no idea existed until yesterday.
It's quite the dilemma. We got rid of cable so we could save some money and get more done. The rationalization was that we'd stop wasting time watching the same old movies night after night, get more sleep and have energy to actually do something productive. Instead we were introduced to the cheaper drug of serial television on demand.
Now I have bags under my eyes, a garden of dandelions, and a lawn that is three inches taller than any of our neighbors' lawns.
I see it as a sign … If I could start the lawnmower I would mow the lawn. Luckily, however, there's a problem with a gas filter, and it looks like rain.
Of course I would feel guilty if I weren't at least somewhat productive. All the things I could be doing instead, I do during the shows … folding laundry, cleaning out the refrigerator, making the beds, sweeping the floors. The areas within eyeshot of a television are super orderly in my house.
I placate myself knowing that I am adding to my cultural understanding and enhancing social navigation as I pull old episodes of Weeds from the guide.
Eventually, the series will end and I will mosey on out into the world to pull the real episodes of weeds from my garden.
I might eventually get Lost in it.