Sometimes things I read on the internet stick to my brain. After all, everything we read on the internet is true, right? So just imagine how much wisdom there’s just there to be had, right at our fingertips. It’s AM-AH-ZING.
(Ok. After reading some of the (alien) conspiracy/flat earther/horoscopey blogs that ARE out there, ya might wanna take that with a grain of salt. Lotsa crazy out there too. Like me.)
But when I recently read about the psychological basis for being into re-watching old movies and series – a lot of things clicked for me.
Not because I rewatch things to fix anxiety (although I suppose, in tumultuous times like these that might still happen) but because the predictability of knowing what’s bound to happen IS indeed a comfort to me, and the nostalgia of reminiscing over things locked in your heart IS a source of happiness. Watching old series and movies again is a safety blanket that can make us (and definitely me) feel safe in an increasingly chaotic world.
I do it often. Marathon my seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (although often I just start in season 6/7 to gawk at those hot as fuck Spike/Buffy episodes).
Binge all those Nicholas Sparks movies like The Lucky One (all of the Zac Efron drool), Safe Haven (all of the Josh drool), The Choice (all of the…well…you get my point eh?) and wallow in their delightful love-lines and inevitable tough endings. Taking the sweet with the sour, because the inner cynic in me feels strongly that that’s just how life works. You get the good things, and then life strikes. But you can still be deliriously happy for a spell in between.
Anyway. I’m a re-watch addict. Not ashamed to admit it.
Until it struck me that this is not just a media-based issue in my life right now.
Because after every break-up I am usually quick to dive into a (couple of) rebounds. Who are never NEW to the playing field. Even in my love-life, I live on reruns. Because they’re safer. I suppose. Or just as stupid as watching an episode for the fifth time and still forgetting the ending (probably the latter).
Pick up the phone and app that one guy I had a few fun nights with five years ago and who I know will show up when beckoned. Venture back into talks with that old flame that didn’t work out in the past. Convince myself that going on a date with the one guy that scorned me ages ago is totally a smart idea. Because at least with these guys I know what I’m getting. Which. Is. Dumb. As. Fuck.
But the thing is – starting something new is fucking scary. It is. No matter how you twist and turn it into something grand. You WILL have to figure out how to model yourself in their presence. Get to know a new brain and see how it meshes with yours. Have to find buttons on a new body, and have to discover how to convey your needs all over again. There’s chances of failure on every corner and obviously a far slimmer chance at success.
It’s such a goddamn chore, in my head. Sometimes. Especially when you’re not feeling so great about yourself, or feel a little bit lost in your skin. Oftentimes. So I tend to put that off until I think I’m actually ready for something more than just silly fuckery with guys-who’ll-never-be. I put off dating until my rerun-binge ends and the rebounds are out of the system.
Yesterday, however, I actually found myself switching the TV that was playing Clueless for the 583453865th time to a new series (Black Sails). And just last week I replaced my Bathtub book by my freshly received ‘A young Geek’s tale‘. Seems the new-ness is taking over. Might there be an end to the rerun binge? And what about the rerun rebounds then?!
Did I mention I have a date this Sunday?
An actual datey-date?
It’s a new guy. Fresh from the playing field. Unknown. Mysterious. Shiny.
Not yet unpacked into the harsh realities of my judgy judgy world. Unmarred.
God that’s scary.
I’ll probably fuck it up.
(Oh boy, I do hope he’s not actually reading this.)
(Or am I too old to say such things)