Revenge is done, and so am I

Driving home from work on the evening of May 21, 2010, I fervently prayed to a god I do not believe in to make sure I got home alive so I would be around to watch the final episode of Lost two nights later. I was obsessed with that show (well, obvs, if I was praying, card-carrying heathen that I am). In fact, I spent the entire week prior in a state of unrest, hoping that this would not be when the car accident and/or heart attack happened that I think is going to be the cause of my death. As the final credits rolled, I swore that I would never again get so emotionally involved in a television show. I managed to keep that promise until a little over a year later when Revenge debuted. Its final episode was last night.

 

Oh, how I love that show, big campy soapy mess that it is.

 

But once again I had a week fraught with worry. Of the eight times I had to be in my car, would one of those journeys be my last? Was that twinge just indigestion from the McDonald’s French fries and Taco Bell beefy burrito that was my lunch or was it the heart attack finally showing up? Or would circumstances conspire to bring about my death via one of the other myriad ways I think I am going to die? Like what if one of the tigers at the Mirage escaped and made its way over to me? It’s only 1.76 miles according to MapQuest (1.6 according to Google Maps). Or what if I got a splinter and died from the resulting infection? Or what if a squirrel bit me and I died from rabies? I wasn’t worried about the other way I fear dying - quicksand – because I had no plans to go anywhere once I got home, just down to check the mail where I could run into an errant squirrel or an escaping tiger or all sorts of wooden objects.

 

But the worrying was all just too much for me and once again I am vowing to never let myself get so emotionally invested in a television programme. You read it here.