Impervious to new obsessions

I laugh when Netflix promotes a new crime drama by calling it my “next obsession.”

Thanks, Netflix, but I’m not looking for new obsessions. These are complicated times. I’m already obsessed with my daily responsibilities.

Like washing my face. It used to involve four steps: cleanse, rinse, dry, moisturize. No more. I’m now encouraged to use makeup remover pads, scrub with exfoliating beads, and alternate cleansing cream with a charcoal face wash. I’m supposed to finish with a firming serum, apply anti-crepe lotion to my neck, use an under-eye brightener, and finally, a toning spray or vitamin C elixir. I’m supposed to do all these things with carefully scripted hand movements in specific directions. I think the product instructions are written in four languages. It’s stressful.

I’m also obsessed with propping just the right number of pillows in just the right positions to support every part of my body, then instructing my subconscious to help me lie perfectly still all night, so I don’t wake up with temporary paralysis. I’m obsessed with taking medicine in the correct order, with the correct time gaps, so one active ingredient doesn’t neutralize the other.

I’m obsessed with setting voice reminders to augment the entries on my calendar app. Without these reminders, I would forget important tasks like cleaning out the dishwasher, peeling the carrots, or buying anti-crepe cream.

I don’t have time to watch some beleaguered detective with a problematic ex and a troubled teenager navigate the intricacies of a complicated case that goes all the way up to the DA’s office, in eight episodes. I have a face to wash, some pills to schedule, and a cadre of pillows to fluff. That’s enough drama for my own eight episodes.

Even eating cereal is complicated now. Have you seen the special bowls that keep the milk and the cereal separate? So you move the cereal over a little at a time, to make sure every bite is crunchy? Or better yet, the cereal sippy cup for adults that combines the milk and the cereal as you tip the container and take a “drink,” so you’re mixing them together in your mouth?

These things worry me. Product developers have too much time on their hands. They’re pioneering niche products that add steps to every micro-activity we perform. They’re convoluting Captain Krunch. 

Netflix should be worried too. Who has time for beleaguered detectives? We’re out here fighting for our beleaguered lives, in a tidal wave of info overload.   

Making coffee is complicated. Ordering coffee out is really complicated. Brewing tea is simple, but I still have to check the teabags for microplastics. Dressing is complicated—I’m supposed to style my cotton sweats now, not just wear them. But what if it’s all I can do to fight my way into them, in my state of partial paralysis every morning? Isn’t that enough?

I want to do things the right way. I want to be a responsible adult. But I may not be able to collect the capsule wardrobe that allows me to go from grocery shopping to apple picking, while flexing a matching tote and fashion-forward tennis shoes.

I remember the old days, when washing my face took five minutes and picking a crime drama meant dialing up a movie of the week. Beleaguered detectives could solve crimes in two hours back then, even with commercial interruptions. Now, I have to commit eight hours if I want to see that DA go down.

The world is full of complications and warnings. Some are valid. The ones encouraging me to use counterclockwise motions while applying firming serum are not.

I may watch a new crime drama, but I’ll set the rules. I’ll do it over two weeks. That means I’ll forget what happened in each previous episode, unless I set a voice reminder to play the recap. And I’ll have to use pillows to avoid paralysis on the couch.