Yes, my life just got a lot more complicated.
The level of enjoyment I derive from the viewing never truly makes up for the extent of sheer terror I feel afterwards. The amount of fear I feel is also disproportionate to how scary the film actually was.
The term “guilty pleasure” is often used to describe a particular band or song we are supposed to hate, but don’t. But I’d question why it’s a requirement to feel guilty about something that makes us happy.
You see, that witty bio is going to paint us in the way we want to be seen when maybe, hopefully, that person whose pictures we were flipping through last night decides to stalk us too. How romantic.
Could I live without it? Easily. So why have it every morning then?
You can feel well-maintained books! I hear you say. Physically maybe, but not emotionally. White pages don’t tell you the same tale brown ones do.