Debate Withdrawal ... No Meds???

The symptoms—waking up exhausted, feeling jumpy, resenting going to the gym, and snapping at clerks in drugstore chains—alerted me that something is off. I tried to get a shrink appointment, but those couches are as crowded as airline seats, which is what let me to the diagnosis. This must be debate withdrawal!

How do we make it all the way from Thursday until Tuesday without seeing Hillary and Obama alternately go after one another, then temper it with some begrudging appreciation and rhetoric about why theirs is the superior party? We’ve gotten hooked on the debates. Addicted. It’s not cold turkey as there’s no shortage of clips and pundits discussing the two candidates, but this must be what the end of football season is to sports addicts.

Sure, I can try to distract myself by watching In Treatment but within minutes, I start trying to figure out whom each of the patients would be supporting. Saturday Night Live attempted to fill the gap with a faux debate but despite the gold-trimmed black pantsuit, it was nothing more than methadone for those of us having the shakes.

The Sunday morning shows will placate me for a few hours, and I’m counting on the Oscar broadcast to get me through the night. As for tomorrow ... like the Twelve Steppers, I’ll take this day by day.