At first, I watched it out of pure love for the show. It was new, it was different, and I wanted to know more. What crime did Kate commit? What's in the hatch? Why is Sawyer such a phenomenally callous jerk? But every time 1 question got answered, 10 more questions took its place.
I have come to the conclusion that I'll never know what's going on and I'll always be, well, lost.
Nowadays, I watch Lost out of fear. Let's face it, if you miss one episode, you might as well stop watching altogether because so much happens in an episode. I don't want to be the one loser who doesn't know what's going on. I don't want to be the one who can't take part in the conversation because I don't know about the other island or I don't know whether the leader of "the others" lives or dies at Jack's hands.
So, come February 7th, I'll be watching the fourth season of Lost. Not because I want to, but because I have to. And possibly because of old high school fears of inadequacy and not fitting in (perhaps that can be my back story for this blog).
