You know what I'd like to be doing right now? It's not blogging. It's watching TV. I want to watch TV. Just long enough to fold five loads of laundry and untangle 17 spools of ribbon. Maybe I would drink a cup of coffee at the same time.
But I can't. And that is absolutely making me crabby. Why can't I? For those of you still reading this, it's because I have no idea how to turn it on.
Three remotes. Two devices. A plethora of menu options. None of which seem to be the magic one.
My kids can watch TV. My husband can watch TV. I just want to watch TV. Why is it so complicated? I just want to push one obvious button. You know, like an iPhone. Without a lot of effort. Or negative thoughts directed at adolescents for doing something to it.
When we were kids, we had one TV. A black and white one. It had a dial you got up and turned. When you found something in the three channels you wanted to watch, you watched it. If your siblings objected, you took the knob off and hid it. So much simpler.
I don't even care what show is on. 200 channels. Eight in English. Three might have something appealing. I've learned to reduce expectations and be happy with something anything in my native tongue. I've learned to care about Hollyoaks. I want to know if Jim is dead and who killed him. I like that show about the Royal Hospital in England somewhere. I like that teen drama something 'Hills'. It's all perfect laundry folding fodder.
It's too quiet in the apartment when everyone is gone. My ears ring. And I can hear myself breathe. Drives me crazy. This is when I miss my dog.
How do I turn this thing on? If I have to put all the laundry in the car and drive down to Pickwick's Pub to watch TV, I'm not going to be happy.
Is it wrong to text the kids at school and ask them how to turn the TV on?