Was it a pill or a bolus?
If you watch network TV in NA, particularly comedy, you will develop an immunity to LT (that’s laugh tracks). No choice, unless you want to turn on subtitles and kill the sound completely. I’ve learned that the rest of the world doesn’t play by the same rules. Imagine having to choose your own moments to laugh!
In fact, after binge watching the series Derry Girls (season one), I’ve discovered that my own laughter sounds just as good as anything produced on a sound stage, and I can ration it. In the moment, I can choose to ignore an obvious plot ploy. Meanwhile, if you’re here to learn about my impressions of the program, it’s simple: I’ve already cued up season two. It’s that good.
I may never get to Derry, but I’ll have an idea of how the city is laid out, thanks to TV and Google Maps. My version of armchair travel. And for later tonight, I have that new series about train stations that I’ve uncovered on YouTube. Call it preparation, call it immersion, call it whatever. Times have rarely been better for discovery without hardship.
The dog kept me involved, this afternoon. While I endeavored to get some routine tidy-up done, he decided to test my nerves with “the heaves”. Nothing serious, but I did have to scramble to get him away from the house while he regained his composure.
To add to the stress, this was day one of dog meds. The usual toxic cocktail that is supposed to reduce the time I spend hunting ticks and fleas. And worrying over a possible exposure to heart worms, should we go elsewhere. The vet delivered the little boxes, and I spent valuable face time faking his hairiness out with small pieces of cheese and huge pills (check the term “bolus”). He knows.
