I am an ‘all in’ kinda gal. If something is good, more is definitely better. Restraint has never been my strong suit. I binge with the best of them – I jump in with two feet and rarely come up for air.
I’m always sorry when I’ve run out of episodes to watch when I’ve been immersed in a new series. I kick myself. But given an opportunity to binge again, I know I would. I have zip in the self restraint department, especially if a character is left in a precarious position at the end of an episode. A season finale with a cliff hanger just about kills me.
I wish I could pace myself. If I was smart I’d take a moment to figure out how many episodes were going to be at my dispose before I started my marathon. Maybe I could calculate how many days I could spread my new indulgence over if I just watched one or two (or three) episodes a night. Maybe, just maybe, I could savor the show rather than gulp it down. But that’s not my style.
I think my compulsion to find out what happens next probably stems from the summer of 1980. The hit series Dallas was in its heyday. J.R. Ewing was the ultimate bad guy – he was ruthless, arrogant and disliked by anyone on the show who wasn’t sleeping with him (and even some who were). The end of the season came with a bang.
There was an eight month delay between J.R. getting shot and finding out who done it. Eight months of not only wondering who pulled the trigger, but if J. R. lived to tell the tale. ‘Who Shot J. R.’ became a catch phrase. The wait was long — too long. It was agony. It was maddening. It was topic of conversation. I think the experience scarred me.
My husband has more self control than I do – if we are watching a series together, he sets the pace. I will admit to a fair amount of pouting, and even a little whining, when he announces that he isn’t up for another episode on a given night. If I’m honest, I actually appreciate the series lasting a little longer under his supervision. I would never consider jumping ahead of him, even though I have ample opportunity to be a sneak. I have more scruples than that.
In a perfect world I would watch a new series like I read a good book – all night long. I would forego sleep, food and bathroom breaks. I would live the series and then mourn it when it was over. Wait… that’s exactly what I already do. Turns out Netflix is my guilty pleasure. I’m betting I’m not alone.