House had to deal with something major… in the absence of a crutch.
Important. Absolutely so.
No vicodin… but vicodin hasn’t been part of the picture at all. No thought about it at all.
Mistakes have been made. And things have gone wrong and things have gone right. He’s fucked things up… and then redeemed himself. or whatever. and then, fucked things up again.
…and, this time, we are made to think that he will not deal. fuck things up again.
but we all hope that he will.
and when he does what he does….
… when he shows up… when he is there….
we accept it. 7 seasons in. not the best narrative. but reassurring…. humanistically?
we wanted him to be there. and he is.
blah blah.. fuckin’ blah.
and House will die with all the great shows that have come and gone.
and it’s not that bad… really. It’s reassuring.
But it’s also become a fuckin’ soap opera. but a well-written one.
so, there it is. I don’t expect anything more.
and then, it fuckin…
rocks. my. world.
vicodin was two seasons ago. gone. not a part of any narrative for 2 entire seasons.
some writer on the show has to be a drug addict.
…or a fuckin’ retarded hypocrite that exploits truth for fiction’s sake.
I mean, aren’t we all?
That being said, it makes me think about my own life. I don’t deal with anything. Unless, that is… I’m wasted. Or chemically altered in some way. He does it to avoid pain… and I do it because I don’t want to think about stuff that I don’t want to think about. So okay. Fine. I don’t want to address the underlying problem… I don’t want to address certain things. I get it. And nothing will ever be okay until I do. I mean, actually okay.
It will probably destroy me. But, at least I’m treating the symptoms is all that I’m saying here. And in the end, it probably won’t be enough… but hopefully, one day, I will be ready.