I avoided putting on the TV while I ate lunch today. Had I put it on, it would have been inevitable that I would have spent most of the afternoon sprawled out, staring at it in a slumped out stupor. Trapped by the TV. Tidy the garden…I can’t I’m watching this. Go for a walk….I’m watching this. Write… I wouldn’t be writing now had I put on the TV. Instead I’d be stuck in the sinking sand of diversion, of something that has the power of allowing me to think I’m doing something, when in reality I’m doing nothing. I’m detached, switched off, my mind vacant. All I have to do is stare, stare at a box as it replicates life. Is being a spectator easier then being a participator? Watching a fictional life easier then dealing with the realities of your own? I look forward to the weekend with the same desire as everyone else. Freedom from work, lie- ins, to be able to do what you wish. Yet weekends are like Christmas, an anti- climax, a let- down. Do I do the things I want to? No, I’m still governed by responsibility, instead of work there chores. Washing, dusting, shopping. The weekend passes in the same haze the week before it did. A blur. TV offers an escape, but only for a short time. When that film finished the pause button comes off from reality and guilt at wasting time creeps in. But today I kept the TV off. It a small change but it a start.

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