She's Writing a Novel

My favorite new TV show, The Walking Dead, is over for the season. Now I just have to wait a year for it to come back, but expectations are low. That's because every time an unexpectedly phenomenal television series breaks out, the producers find a way to eff it up beyond all recognition by the second season, or else the network just up and cancels it out of nowhere.
Anyway, I can't get enough of zombie apocolypse flicks so here's hoping TWD comes back with gusto.

In the event of a zombie apocolpyse, the thought of survival in the world after the collapse of our technology-based civilization is perhaps more daunting than the thought of survival in a world riddled with the flesh-eating undead. Ducking and dodging zombies is one thing; doing so half-blind and pregnant with a mouth full of cavities is arguably worse. So here in no particular order is a short list of things that having to live without is more horrifying than fleeing zombie hoardes:

contact lenses
birth control
electric toothbrush
tampons
hot water
All of Modern Medicine Including Dentistry
moisturizer
cell phone
microwave
the Russian Lover
THE INTERNET

The white towel fell into a puddle of cat piss and there's no booze in the house and it's 10 degrees outside.

In context, things are looking up!

It was time for a household upgrade, and the choice was obvious. I haven't had cable television for about...10 years now. That's also about the same amount of time I have lived without a dishwasher, but who's counting? I have my priorities straight. A dishwasher is not going to give me episodes of the Real Housewives.

Rediscovering cable at this age is..a mixed bag. When I was a kid cable meant Nickelodeon (remember when that was the only channel with kids programming besides PBS? geez...), when I was a teenager it was all about MTV (because VH1 was still your parents' music video channel. Because it still played music videos then. Geez, how old AM I?

Now, of course, I'm at that age of WEDDINGS and BABIES and HOUSES, oh my. And while I may have made some unconventional choices of my own when it comes to my domestic circumstances, I'm still a sucker for this stuff. Voyeurism is the new television; it's not necessarily that you WANT to be living these other people's lives, but damn it if their lives aren't entertaining. And also offer you the opportunity to feel better about your life.

Except when they don't.

Except when you don't know if you can watch another episode of House Hunters because, as much fun as it is to walk through house after house with these prospective buyers, it's downright discouraging to see how many near-imbiciles with ugly nagging wives are in the market for half-million dollar homes.

Except then an episode of House Flippers comes on, and suddenly your attitude flips. Because at least you are a stable renter whose only concern is making your fairly modest rent each month, and here is this poor bastard carrying two mortgages trying to renovate a 3 bedroom house in 4 weeks or else his kids will starve and his wife will divorce him.

So yeah, that helps put things back in perspective. Reality TV is not that different from the reality -- some people got it better than you, and some got it worse, and no matter how many ways you look at it, you'll put yourself somewhere in the middle. But that's Ok, I think. Everybody loves a sandwhich.

Last night the Russian lover had to get up around 2 in the morning for something he calls a "maintenance window." Apparently the internet is a 24x7 operation, who knew? Anyway, when it's time to fix some things there is a good possibility that you're also going to break some things, and in any event you may have to suspend some services -- so unless it is a bona fide emergency, the internet gets fixed in the middle of the night. Which will only inconvenience a couple of insomniacs in this hemisphere; the other hemisphere is censored from half the English-speaking web anyway, so who cares about them?

Bottom line is that "maintenance window" means the Russian lover is going to leave me alone in the apartment. Alone and in the dark. While I appreciate that there was a time this was no big deal, that time was a long time ago. For the past 6 years, I've gotten used to having a warm body in my bed and a strong man between me and The Bad Things lurking. As soon as he is out the door, I am wide awake and re-running through my mind every horror film I've ever seen.

The funny thing is that, in these imagination-gone-wild flights of terror, it's not the remotely plausible scenarios that haunt you. Do I worry about some drunk thief stumbling up the fire escape and banging on the back door, or about the neighboors upstairs falling asleep to a lit cigarette and starting a fast-moving fire? Or less plausible, but still within the realm of reality, do I worry about a heretofore unknown to me stalker bursting through the bedroom window, or some random serial killer lying in wait to make his move? No. I break into a sweat at the thought of the things I don't even believe in -- ghosts and evil spirits and aliens with a penchant for abduction. I mean, come one.

And I know it's all absurd, even while I pull the down comforter around me tighter to cocoon myself in an illusion of security. And I know I'm going to be mortified at my own terror with the first light of dawn, embarassed to admit even to myself my own thoughts from the hours before.

But that is the thing about the dark, and being alone, and the threat of the ultimate being-along-in-the-dark: Sleep. On some subconcious level, I think, sleep can be such a scary thing sometimes that you'll go to any lengths to scare yourself to stay awake. Falling into that unconcious void is somehow easier to do, becomes something peaceful and lovely, when you can do it together with someone else.

The Russian lover has just informed me that there will be another maintenance window tonight. It's noon and I'm thinking "no big deal." But I should probably plan to have an extra glass of wine or three after dinner tonight.