I just watched the last episode of a series I have loved for years – loved so much that I thought how sad it would be when it finally went off the air.  I’m not feeling that anymore.  In fact, I’m so disgusted that I won’t watch it again…even though it will be on next week.  One of the few characters I still cared about was killed in the episde I watched.  I won’t be back to see what happens next because the death of that character broke some thread of trust I had with the shows writers and producer.  Now, I just don’t care.

Life has enough strife, stress, and hardship without someone bringing more to me in my leisure time.

Once I figured out I now have one additional hour each week, I moved on to another thing which could have been equally traumatic – the end of the Sookie Stackhouse series.  Now, I’ve been putting off actually finishing the final book because I didn’t want to be sad.  Today, I figured I was already pissed off enough after my television viewing, so I might as well be completely miserable.

The entire time I was reading the final three books I kept wondering how Charlaine Harris would end it.  I had all sorts of evil twists and diabolical plots and traumatic events floating around my imagination.  I’d write them all here, but I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who’s still reading the book.  I’ll create a separate page so you can read them if you want.  I sat on my couch with my dog and a glass of water and decided to just rip the bandage off…

Much to my delight, the ending wrapped everything up quite nicely – with a healthy dose of justice and some pretty cool scenes that made me feel vindicated and really, really smart.  At no point did I feel betrayed or used.  I didn’t feel like I had been lead down the primrose path.  The author had a chance  break my heart and decided not to do it.  I suppose I’m a complete sap because I do love a neat little ending.  Notice, I didn’t qualify that as “a happy ending” because if nothing else, the end of a series I loved is hardly a happy thing.

It’s a mater of trust for me as a reader, viewer, and author.  I like to be brought home after a date safe and sound with no regrets that I just wasted a few hours of my life.  If I wanted to be sad, stressed, and shattered then I’ll wait around a bit because life tends to do that to all of us from time to time.  I don’t need a complete stranger to make me feel that way.

I guess my new book will be out sooner, now that I have an extra hour in my week.

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