Missing Lost

I hope my friends appreciate what I do for them.

I hadn't missed an episode of Lost since season 3, episode 19: The Brig, until last night. It's now 9 episodes into season 6. That's 37 episodes in a row. I don't know if my friends can truly fathom how much it hurts me to not be in front of a TV at 8:30 on a Wednesday night. What have they turned me into?

There are only 9 episodes of Lost left for heavens sake. Nine. In nine weeks time my life will be ripped from under my feet and I will be dropped back into the real world like a piece of trash. My heart will be torn into millions of tiny little pieces, and each of those pieces will stabbed with a blunt and rusty object. I'm never going to be able to witness a TV epic anything like this ever again. And yet I'm going out on a Wednesday night for what, half price cocktails? Please. 

Every time I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at the time, my heart jerked. Butterflies filled my guts. 8:42. It's already started! 9:15. Shit, I've missed it! 10:30. There's still enough time, if I take the next train, to catch the encore screening! I had to take some pretty deep breaths to stop myself from running for that door. Maybe a couple of years a go I would have. Maybe with some lesser friends I would have.

But you know what? I had the time of my pathetic little life last night. And this time I wasn't sitting on the edge of my seat in front of the TV, sweating on the outrageous cliffhanger that was taking place before my eyes, listening to Giacchino thumping through my veins. I actually enjoyed a social situation more than I enjoyed Lost. True, my friends could never replace Lost as my primary form of love and dedication, but I love my friends none the less. I must do, missing Lost and all. 

Hell, I might even miss Lost again next week!