I had plans to do a lot of work around the house this weekend, but I didn’t do any of it. I had a lot of essays and quizzes to grade, but I only did the ones for tomorrow’s classes. If I hadn’t made a large pan of lasagna Friday night, my poor husband and visiting son wouldn’t have had anything to eat. I did remember to feed the cat, but only after the poor thing came crying to the patio door.

It wasn’t my fault. I was helpless. I couldn’t do anything else. It was beyond my control. It was as though I were. . . hypnotized.

You see, my dvd of Season Eleven of MASH came in the mail Saturday. It took up most of my time.

I’m not apologizing; I’m just explaining why the house is still a mess even after I’ve been home for a few days. Still dusty, still cluttery, and with dirty dishes still in the sink.

What else could I do, though? I mean, really? Season Eleven came in the mail, for crying out loud.

And since it was the last season, that’s just what I did a lot of. Crying out loud.

I’m not a rabid fan of the show or the people in it, of course. Rabid fans have nothing on me.

I’m obsessed.

I sat mesmerized at my kitchen table, grading a few papers and living at the 4077th with all of them. And then, saying goodbye.

The high points of my weekend were the phone calls from my wonderful new friend out west. Call me ANY TIME, sweetheart. Just make sure it’s all right with Daddy, first.

But mostly, what I did this weekend was bug out with my virtual obsessions.

How could I ever give my loyalty to another show? It would be like having an affair.

“You shall see nothing, hear nothing, think of nothing but Svengali, Svengali, Svengali M*A*S*H!”