Feb 14, 2012 20:05
8 PM, Valentine's Day, 2012. J and I have been on a limited-calorie diet these past two weeks, and so I find myself quite affected by the alcohol we have consumed at our local wine bar. And it occurs to me that this is, so far, the first time in eight years we haven't gotten into a heated, raging, all-out argument. You know- the kind you really cannot win but where all the frustrations in your life well up and explode forth in a fury which allows no reason to prevent you from just arguing. I hate those. I am a creature of logic (at least I like to think I am) and those protusions of simple emotion are not helpful. Indeed, they only ever end up hurting me anyone involved. And so I try to avoid them, opting instead to have discussions and debates and arguments absent of emotion; because those are the ones which are productive and not hurtful. Anyway. Today, no such pain has been self-inflicted.
And so I find myself purusing Netflix. I'm in no particular mood. On the contrary, I seem to be in EVERY mood, and wish that all the information on my queue could simple *be* in me. Can't I watch and know everything? If the capabilities existed, would I want to partake in them? Many transhumanist questions confront me, questions which this Luddite thought she had answered to herself very firmly. And yet, as age progresses, I find no harm in questioning and confronting decisions and assumptions. But still no answers.
And no decisions as to what I want to watch on online television.