Eight years ago, my TV and I got divorced. After some alone time in the attic, he decided to marry another person, and I decided to marry myself. Since we’re not together, I think we’re both drastically happier.

In that TV marriage of mine, most mornings became flammable very quickly. I would rise eager for love, tenderness, good news, and optimism, but he would pour out darkness into my face. Just when gloom seemed to fade away, some characters would appear saying things I could not believe. It would seem so unrealistic that I would catch myself shouting, “How long are you going to keep insulting my intelligence?!”

My TV and I would spend some time apart in peace. But then in the evenings, we would become like dogs and cats again. I would switch channels looking for a good documentary, something inspiring to prepare myself for a beautiful and restoring sleep. TV would constantly offer scenes full of violence, killing, hatred … He felt misunderstood, useless, and rejected. I felt frustrated and desperate.

I can’t say that this marriage didn’t have some good moments. But as I got older, they became rarer. We could no longer live on the warm memories of cartoons, music video discoveries and kitchen secrets. I can’t even say that my TV spouse didn’t try to save our marriage. Here and there he would insert a movie with some good twists. That would engage my gray cells and make my inner being jump for joy. To be honest, I also tried to save our marriage, mostly by bringing some sexy toys into it. I would visit the local video store more and more often with the question, “Do you have a smart movie?” I gave up when a more than kind lady behind the counter said for the fourth time: “We don’t have it sweety, and I doubt we’ll have what you are looking for.”

It was a tough decision. For someone who graduated in journalism and has worked in the profession for more than a decade, life without a media outlet is not an easy one. In addition to the professional, there is also a personal sense of defeat. When I told him my decision to break up, he brought up the fact that I didn’t know what the life of a TV divorcee looked like. He tried to convince me that I wouldn’t be able to cope, that it was a dangerous and sad life.

“How will I manage life without him? Am I going to become dull and dim? What will people think of me?” I asked myself till the very end. I concluded that there is only one way to find out the answers – to try.

That day when I packed him up and took him to the attic, I also uninstalled all the media applications on my phone. For the first time in my life, I also stopped buying newspapers. And that’s how the “dry stripping” started.

After a month, I was in shock. Is it possible that I don’t miss him at all? It’s like he was never there! Is it realistic that this life companion of mine who filled my mornings and evenings was so easily replaced by a cup of tea and good music?

After a year, I had a short flirt with the gramophone. After five years, I compensated by writing and publishing my book. Today, I know it was an arranged marriage that should have been prohibited by law, like child marriages are. To be exposed to that (at first glance) naive content definitely requires an adult’s consent.

During these eight years, as a result of my TV divorce, I experienced the following:

• I got caught in the rain about ten times after not bringing an umbrella
•  I learned that some great actors died three months late
• During the state of emergency due to covid, my mother had to call me every day to tell me when it was prohibited to go out.

And yes, I almost forgot: As a TV divorcee, I got three additional hours of life every day. Almost 1,100 hours a year. In eight years, I got exactly one full year of life (365 days).

P.S. Yes, I wrote this text in response to the eternal question, “So how do you do it all?!” Short and clear – I got divorced from my TV!

And how are you doing in that marriage?