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Thursday night is usually a pretty good one for chilling out in our household. I’ll either have a massage appointment (giving a massage), which means I will get to see a friend and make them feel better. Or it’s a good night for TV and crochet on the couch.

We will usually watch Offspring from Wednesday night, which is much better than watching it on Wednesday night because you can skip the ads. Then we will watch Time of our lives on the ABC.
I really enjoy both shows. But they are pretty much about messed up relationships, so there is always the danger that they will make me feel a bit strange. 
Last night’s episode of Offspring could be the last one ever, and it was a cracker. Lots of tying up loose ends, still a bit of mess, but reasonably happy endings… And babies. So many babies.
Then Time of our lives was its usual incisive and poignant best, but sad as well. Mainly about the problems that those babies have when they grow up I guess. 
Well I had two strong reactions. When Offspring finished, I was all teary, partly because the series was over and it was a satisfying ending. But also because I looked at all these women having babies on screen, and thought, “that’s an experience I’ll probably never have, and it’s looking less and less likely as time goes on.”  I thought I was used to that idea, but maybe not.
Then, with Time of our lives, I felt sad when that finished because it made me think, “who on earth would invest in relationships or having children? It’s all such a mess. What is the point?”
Mum and I talked it over, and she said “you’ve got to remember they’re just stories”. But stories can be dangerous, as any fan of Stephen Sondheim knows. 
I guess I take comfort in the fact that my story is unfolding, it’s not over yet. And that the author is wise and he knows the ending. Actually I know the ending. I’ll be with the author, and that is much better than any ending I could devise.