in bed with ...

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I am in bed with EastEnders. I don't know why. I've been watching it since it started way back, a very long time ago. I was just a child and EastEnders was so grow'd up. I've grown up with it, child to teenager to young adult to the woman I am now. I've survived serial killers, drug addicts, abuse, adoption, teenage romance, affairs, explosions, weddings, funerals, transplants, criminal activities, people coming back from the dead ... Every so often I wonder what the point is. Why bother watching at all? Do I watch for pleasure, or do I simply watch out of habit? Would I even miss it? I think so. It's ridiculously stupid and far-fetched. The researchers don't do a very good job of researching important things. Dot Cotton Branning Whatever is seemingly immortal. Everybody holds down unskilled jobs and yet still manage to pay London rental prices, pay to drink copious amounts of tea in the café when they have a perfectly good kettle at home, and drink in the pub each and every night. Honestly, I want to know how they do it. But, despite the silliness of it, I can't bear the idea of giving it up completely. So instead I put it on and half-heartedly attempt to pay attention. I refuse to give up! I will persevere through both the good times and the bad. And right now it is really bad. A car crash of familiarity, hope, pain, love and hate in Soapland. And I just can't let it go ...