Hiber(TV)nation

During the winter months it’s easy to become something of a hermit. Certainly, chilly winds, bracing rain or cold (for Sacramento) temperatures make it more appealing to forgo venturing out in favor of a night on the couch. And while there are plenty of book-related activities then, it’s also a time for some engaging visual entertainment.

But the weeks post-New Year’s Day are notoriously bad for TV, so this year, recovering from an insane December packed with social activities, we spent much of January in what I like to think of as a hibernation, hunkered down in front of the television set and drawing on several months’ worth of emotional and fat reserves by binging on hours and hours and hours of TV. New TV-watching choices have radically changed how we watch the medium. A few years back, it was several seasons of Lost on DVD. Then there was the year of the epic Friday Night Lights marathon.

This year, we survived three seasons of Breaking Bad via Netflix streaming.

Seriously, do you know how many 45-minute episodes you can burn though in a night? Meth-centered dramas, as it turns out, are very addicting, and, accordingly, it took no time to catch up on the Emmy-award-winning drama.

Afterward, however, we felt a bit guilty—anti-social, really. So we dusted off our manners, renewed friendships and subjected our faces once again to the light of day and the glow of moonlight.

It’s not that we gave up the blue screen entirely, mind you—life would be far less bearable without The Daily Show With Jon Stewart, Mad Men or Nurse Jackie. Some nights, indeed, all the stimulation I can handle—don’t judge, I’m not proud—is a nightcap and The Voice. At certain points in mental burnout, you see, there’s little more satisfying in life than yelling, boozily, at a high-def version of Christina Aguilera.

Mostly though, we tried to socialize, we tried to get out of the house, we tried to return to normalcy, and in the meantime, our DVR, apparently lonely, gorged itself on TV shows.

Last week, however, marked the arrival of the first truly hot night of the season—one of those evenings when the famed Delta breeze remains absent, leaving the air unbearably still, moods grouchy and the energy to do something—anything—practically nonexistent.

And that’s how we found ourselves, staring at the distressingly long DVR queue, trying to figure out if we’d ever be able to catch up.

“How did we get so behind on 30 Rock?” my husband said, shocked as he skimmed through the list. “And how do we have 18 episodes of Community? We should just delete them.”

I threw my hand out to stop the remote.

“No! We’ll watch them—right after we catch up on Parks and Rec,” I said. (Sorry Community fans, I realize we’re part of the problem.)

There are also two seasons’ worth of Downton Abbey, the last few episodes of Project Runway All Stars—don’t tell me who won, OK?—and several Key and Peele installments.

We now commence hibernation: the summer months.

Social life? Meh.

On nights when it’s too hot to do anything but sip on icy drinks and sit, bathing in the light of the TV, soothed by the frigid climes of an air-conditioned room, I’m sure my friends will understand.