Netflix and The Walking Dead have ruined my night life

True story.

Kind of.

If you catch my drift.

I’m SO not a television addict. OK, so maybe once upon a time, I’d watch 90210 and Melrose Place.

And then, I looked forward to the Thursday night line-up of Friends and ER and all the other shows in-between…but that was so 1990’s.

And there was this other time when I did nightly CSI marathons…dunk, dunk.

Then there was the whole House Hunters thing. But, because we knew the whole Leslie Sansone Walking Away the Pounds routine, we’d exercise as we were watching. Walking in place through the whole episode.

Then shower because you can’t go to bed sweaty.

Which left us wide open for. Well…you know. <winky face>

It was a win-win, all the way around.

Those small addictions, I came through unscathed. No withdrawal symptoms. No relapse. No more exercise. No nuthin.

No more television viewing addictions.

I’d have none of that.

It’s for the weak.

That’s what I kept telling myself, anyways. As my husband sat beside me every night, me on my iPad, him staring at guys in underwear hugging and throwing each other on the ground. Something called MMA.

But recently…

We…my husband and I…started watching The Walking Dead on Netflix.

He started it.

I followed.

I’m a good wife, what can I say?

Like crack addicts.

Every. Single. Night.

For the last couple of weeks.

The pull to the basement was strong, where Playstation is hooked up to a large television. Playstation with Netflix. Netflix with The Walking Dead.

And a gross but comfy couch.

Like zombies, we make our way into the basement.

Every.

Single.

Night.

To watch zombies. And non-zombies, of course.

We stand at the top of the stairs and swear to each other, only one episode tonight. And after…we’ll ahem.

I’m thinking we should have done the spit and shake on it.

Then, we head down to the depths of our house carrying zombie fighting supplies like chocolate and a large glass of ice water. Or sometimes, a beer.

And we sit.

Transfixed.

For 45 minutes.

And then, another 45 minutes.

Until…a few episodes have been watched.

Exhausted and spent from the suspense of not knowing when a zombie will pop up and eat one of the characters…

We shut down the Playstation, which turns off Netflix…which shuts off The Walking Dead until next time…

We head upstairs.

And fall into bed.

Not on top of each other.

No peaceful sleep because visions of walkers float through my head.

Yeah…I’m that big of a scaredy cat.

My pre-sleep mantra…no such thing as zombies. No such thing as walkers.

Pathetic.

No aheming.

Because we are too tired.

Damn walkers.

At this point, however, zombies are more real than…you know. Ahem.

Well, the good news…for ME anyways…

We finished Season 2 last night.

Season 3 isn’t available on Netflix yet.

Which translates to…

Regular nighttime pattens…

Commencing.

Unless, of course, we decide to start watching Downtown Abbey…just to see what all the fuss is about.

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