What was I thinking, binging the second half of the third season of “House of Cards” this weekend?
I got so caught up in the moment, episode to episode, that before I knew it, I was but one single solitary finale episode away from being finished with a season that just started a couple weeks ago.
Like a large stuffed crust Pizza Hut pizza, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or a bag of Snyder’s of Hannover bacon cheddar pretzel bites, my intention is never to watch a season of “House of Cards” in one sitting. Or as in this case two sittings over a couple weeks. Last year I successfully stopped myself halfway through and patiently waited until the latest season was released.
Before I knew it, however, any chance to sit down and marinate in the dark and crazy, effed up world of Frank and Claire Underwood was summarily taken from me. By myself. Now, like every other binge fiend out there, I am forced to wait nearly an entire year to get another fix. Torture. Not like the torture half the character in the show force upon themselves and others, but torture nonetheless.
I guess I could watch the season again. Or maybe start from the beginning? Perhaps forget myself in a binge of an entirely different nature. Another show? Another pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Probably both.