Writing prompt: I opened the refrigerator …
I opened the refrigerator and stood there staring. How could there be nothing to eat when I
had just gone grocery shopping? And had spent over $100 (not $100 for a family, with multiple
people, but $100 just for me)? Could it be the Paradox of Choice—the curse of too many
options?
I heard that phrase yesterday and it has stuck with me. Also yesterday, a friend offered to let
me poach her HBO account. I hesitated. I’ve already got Netflix and Hulu … plus the 800 million
videos on YouTube. Do I really need another option that will only tempt me to spend even more
time staring at a screen?
When I was a kid, we had three TV channels: ABC, NBC, and CBS. And we always found
something to watch, an offering we typically enjoyed. Now, when I go back home, Dad has
cable with 500+ channels … and we spend 45 minutes trying to find something to watch. (And
often settle on something no one is particularly thrilled with.) It’s ridiculous!
So, I turned down my friend’s generous HBO offer. And in the time saved not watching yet
another online offering, maybe I’ll cook a thoughtful and healthy meal with the $100 worth of
groceries staring back at me from the open refrigerator.
Writing prompt: The noise coming from the …
The noises coming from the apartment below me were clearly those of love making. My bedroom is directly above the 2nd floor apartment bedroom and, by the sounds of it, my bed is directly above their bed. The moans and groans tickling my eardrums didn’t bother me—although it did feel slightly inappropriate and voyeuristic to listen to them—nor had they awakened me. You see, I had been interacting with a bedfellow of my own. His name is Mac … and his nightly offering to me is usually … Netflix. This is a bedtime habit I’ve had for some time now, even though multiple studies suggest that it isn’t the healthiest way to drift off to sleep.
It all reminded me of the story of my Grandma Radosevic being approached to sign a petition to stop the neighborhood church from holding summer dances for the youth—ostensibly because the loud music was disturbing the usual peace and quiet of the neighborhood too late into the evening, but actually because some of the youth were suspected of sneaking off into the bushes to “do it.” Grandma declined to sign. She told them, “I kind of like the music. It actually helps put me to sleep.”
So, as I lay there listening to the oohs and ah…aaaahhh…AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHS of my neighbors, I decided to let that be the music that lulled me to sleep. It’s most certainly a healthier strategy than Netflix.