Once upon a time, a young woman named Stephanie needed to catch up on several seasons of a fantastic television program, called Dexter. Stephanie's mother helped her procure two seasons of Dexter on DVD from the public library, and Stephanie settled in for some quality TV time. Stephanie watched episode after episode in zoned-out bliss. Probably eating some cereal and dozing off occasionally.
"Ah," Stephanie sighed after several hours. "What a great day I've had watching Dexter."
She went to bed.
During the night, Stephanie had a very long and scary nightmare about being trapped in a glass tree house overlooking a freeway, and being unable to escape the killer who was about to come through the door. The killer had already done some damage to other folks and there was blood, and plenty of it (in the dream).
At 3:03 a.m., Stephanie awoke with a jolt.
"Oh my gosh, SOMEONE IS IN MY HOUSE," Stephanie thought. Stephanie lived alone. There was no man with a baseball bat to check for intruders. Stephanie flew from her bed during these wee hours, and opened every door and cupboard in her apartment. "Who's there??" she called out. Adrenaline rushed. Muscles tensed. Pulse increased and perspiration began.
She was very afraid. She knew, however, that if there was a killer in her house with an evil plot to do harm, she would rather face him (or her) head on, shoulders back, and fists swinging, than to be taken by surprise while snuggled in her bed, sound asleep.
After several minutes of a bold search, Stephanie realized that her fear was a result of an overactive imagination, and too much television.
The End
I do this all the time... to the point now that I no longer watch Criminal Minds or Dexter or CSI.
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