Chalk it Up
Andrea wrote about her current sentiments about Quarterlife here. She had mentioned it to me a while back and I took viewing it into consideration... but just in the back of my mind. So when I was reading her most recent blogpost I accidentally clicked on the link for the show, and it immediately froze up my computer... annoying. But I went back to it... and watched the most recent episode. And then went back and watched the first - and through the, what am I on now, tenth episode... and so it goes - I am addicted.
This show is definitely a grown up My So-Called Life - and why wouldn't it be? It was put together by almost the same people... not the creator - but the producers, the same people who have brought you equally overdramatic, yet touching shows like, Once and Again, Thirtysomething, and correct me if I am wrong - that ridiculously great show that used to be on ABC after The Golden Girls back when I was a kid - Sisters. You know, the one with the sisters that all had masculine girl's names because their father had wished they had been boys or something stupidly clever like that... anyways.
As much as I am addicted to the drama of this show, here is my question... why can't I stop watching it? Why did I crack a beer at two am to smoke at my counter and watch this more... and then write a horrifically long, random blogpost about it? Because while some people watch movies and television and online shows to simply be entertained and/or learn something or acquire information or whathaveyou - I have come to the realisation, and not for the first time - that I watch these things to disappear. I watch, to wrap myself up in something, an experience, moments that are not my own. And yes, this is most definitely not a new concept to anyone. This is not some earth-shattering realisation of just how unique I am in this feeling. It's mostly me being long-windedly introspective, as charmingly and emaciatedly done by the pretty girl that plays Dylan on Quarterlife. But whatever, it's late and I am enjoying a moment of buzzed solitude and it's my blog so I can say what I want...
And it just dawned on me. I'll be 29 in nine months. My quarterlife? Well, I'm past that. But the upcoming eleven years? Let's just hope they aren't too much like Thirtysomething. Because really? I can't deal with that much Peter Horton. But I do recognize that I am entering the stage in between... maybe it'll be a combination of the two - because as much as the coming-of-age shit should be in my dust, I've always been a late bloomer. And I'm still in my, listen to me, listen to me, read my stuff, read this thing I wrote, take me seriously phase. And I still wrestle with the concept of calling myself a "Writer" and I am still mildly crippled by fear every time I sit down to write. But maybe, in my Patricia Wettig Thirtysomething phase, I will embrace it like I have been meant to since I started scribbling furiously on a notebook page, or on the harsh light of a laptop screen in the three-am dark - but until then I will just keep trying and I will refuse to reach for the Xanax when it's time for me to write.