You wake up to a cold morning adorned with a clear sky. There is no better way to wake up. It’s the weekend. Finally. No work to do, not even a single obligation on the horizon. You can return to what’s important. Good food, exercise, a little meditation, reading, call a friend for a cup of conversation.
You even remember there’s fresh spinach and tomato in the fridge. After Friday night’s junk food you vow to let your intestines rest.
Your feet swing over the side of the bed. Skin touches the cold floor. A jolt of sensation shoots into your knees and you shudder. Toes search for the slippers.
Your eyes notice the brushed aluminum sheen of a Macbook on top of a pile of clothes. The machine sleeps but the sight of it brings up thoughts of Netflix. A little smile appears in the line of your mouth. Your feet abandon the cold floor and snuggle back under the covers. Blood red logo of Netflix fires up the screen. Wonderful. It’s an early Saturday morning and you’ll watch an episode or two.
Four episodes later it’s creeping midday. The Macbook runs out of battery and some part of you thinks:
You spill out of bed and into the bathroom. Splash water. Flush toilet. It’s time to begin the weekend with spinach and tomato and eggs. As you prepare breakfast your thoughts slither back to Netflix. Might as well watch while preparing breakfast. An episode or two. No more.
Five episodes later it’s late afternoon. You don’t remember what you had for breakfast but the stomach is growling. Your eyes are dry and you feel a slight pounding in your head. Outside, the sun will sink soon. You think it would be good to catch a ray of sunlight after a whole week of computer work and stark office lighting.
But first, the bathroom.
Splash water. Flush toilet. Then, you put the sneakers on. As you’re about to open the door you remember you’ve left the keys in the living room. You turn to get them. On the coffee table you see your Macbook charging. An episode, you think to yourself, and then you’ll go for a walk after sunfall. You’re a night owl, anyway.
Three hours later you’re starving. You manage to put on the jacket and tumble out of the apartment. Your mind doesn’t notice the darkness. It doesn’t even notice the firmament above, visible despite the light pollution. Your thoughts are on your dry eyes, the pounding headache and the idea of pizza. You’d think the narrative of your favorite show would swim around your head but it doesn’t. You don’t remember much besides the last episode or two. You’re not watching — you’re killing time.
The local store sells two frozen pizzas for the price of one. A steal. You get wine while you’re at it and a long bar of milk chocolate. It’s the weekend, goddamnit. You might as well splurge a little after, and before, a week’s worth of hard work. That’s what echoes in your head as you swipe the card on the 3rd pair of pizzas this week and the 5th bar of chocolate. Back out on the street, you hurry to the apartment. It’s uncomfortable to be outside, exposed, with nothing to distract you.
You unlock the door, fire up the oven, crack open the bottle of wine and break off a piece of chocolate. Hell, why not? You can’t think of a reason. It’s the weekend. Might as well live a little.
You’ve watched all the episodes of your favorite show but you still put on Netflix. In the “Recommended” section you find another show, figuring to pass the time until the food’s ready. The shows starts and you immediately know you don’t like it. Still, you watch, late into the night. Before you realize, the hands of the clock come together in prayer — it’s midnight.
How can that be? You’ve only just woken up, thinking of spinach, tomato and exercise. Tired, you undress and let the hot water run. You rub your temples and the dry eyes. It’ll be good to sleep, you think, and crawl into bed. You kill the light. Close your eyes. Then you wait.
Before long your thoughts begin to twist and rage. A hurricane of anxiety. Everything Netflix suppressed comes screaming back.
It’s three after midnight now. The room is quiet in the darkness. Below the covers, as if hiding, your bloodshot eyes await the bloody Netflix logo.
You choose an episode at random and hit play.