As the Lost series finale looms ever closer — May 23 to be exact — so does my anxiety about the post-partum depression that will certainly result when the Greatest Show Of All Time ends, leaving me without purpose and childlike wonder and icebreaker conversation with other fans.
What will I do with myself? What will happen to me?!
These are questions I ask myself all the time. I am not alone. Friends, aquaintances and fellow relatively normal human beings who have been watching since Day One and scour message boards on fansites during work hours are all quietly suffering and preparing for the worst: Saying goodbye to John Locke, Sawyer, Ben Linus, the Smoke Monster, and the mind-bending twists and turns that have captivated since September 2004. To add insult to injury, producers have revealed the name of the final episode — it is called, simply, The End.
Oh, it’s not all bad: There’s Mad Men, Friday Night Lights, Millionaire Matchmaker, The Goodwife, Battlestar Galactica. But oh no, if you’re a Lost-ie, nothing can replace that show. Not even 47 minutes of Tim Riggins on his way out of Dylan, Texas.
So how we do we get through this? (Sidenote: EW’s Doc Jensen should probably be kept on suicide watch). Here are some helpful tips from my friend and superfan Chris Dimick:
Get my “black smoke monster” fix by taking up black tar heroin smoking.
Start a Dharma-brand Ranch Dressing company.
Cry, then cry, then cry some more. Then cry.
Starting digging my own hatch in the backyard.
Smash myself in the head until I forget all plot points, then slowly rewatch Lost DVDs over next six years.
Insult an LAPD officer so I’m reminded of Ben Linus’s bloodied face every time I look in the mirror.
I’m not totally endorsing any of these tips — well, maybe the crying part — but anything to get me through.
Are you in the same boat? Do you have any advice for me and other Lost nerds? Leave suggestions in the comments — as well as any advice to ease my Lost pain.