‘West Wing’

I couldn’t help but wish that Martin Sheen’s character, Jed Bartlett, was actually running for president as I lay on my couch in pain last Wednesday watching episode after episode of “The West Wing,” desperately willing time to move faster.

“I’m sure you just have a stomach bug,” she had said on the phone, “Or maybe a touch of the flu.”

“Okay,” I said. I was nauseous and my head hurt. “What do I do now?”

“Ginger ale, toast, rest,” then, “You kind of just have to wait for it to pass.”

I was still hoping to make it to work and hate not being able to do anything. As I began to explain my frustration, the room started spinning again and all that I could muster was, “Well, how long do I have to wait?”

“Until it’s gone,” she said, with much more attitude then I thought appropriate.

There is a certain amount of leeway that people give you when you are sick, but it isn’t endless.

Accepting the fact that I wasn’t going to make it into the office, I changed back into sweatpants and a hoodie, and plopped myself down on the couch, wondering how I was going to pass the time.

I tried to do the dishes, but didn’t make it very far. I wondered aloud if I could get any writing done (I think I talk to myself a lot) but decided that staring at a computer screen or a pad of paper made me dizzy. I didn’t feel tired enough to lie down and decided that I would put on a movie.

I found the DVD set of “The West Wing” the way you do when you come across things that you haven’t seen in a while but loved in the past. I turned the beat-up blue box cover over in my hands.

“The West Wing” and I have a long history that starts with my dad loving the show, and me not understanding why. And ends with a quiet obsession. Back when my dad watched it, it was still on TV. (Wednesdays or Thursdays at 10:00 p.m.; I can’t remember which, but I do remember thinking that it was boring).

“This will do,” I said to myself. And put it into the DVD player.

Years later, while I was at NYU, it was rebroadcast daily on the Bravo channel, My roommate at the time liked it and would watch it regularly. It started to grow on me.

The theme music blasted through the TV speakers and I hummed along with it (I think I sing to myself a lot, as well). As the opening credits play I smile; it’s been long enough since I’ve seen an episode that the characters are like old familiar friends.

My dad found out that I had finally realized how good the show was and bought me the first season on DVD in quiet victory. When I was home with my mom, she watched it and loved it. And it was a few months before I had the first season back.

Someone bought me the third season, but I left it in a rental car coming back from a shoot. I still can’t remember why I brought it with me in the first place. I think I must have had it in my bag.

My ex-girlfriend Lauren and I bonded over the show in the beginning of our relationship but we didn’t watch much of it toward the end.

By episode three, I can actually sit up comfortably. After episode eight, I am surprised to realize that it’s dark outside. I’m asleep through episodes nine and 10 and the theme music is still playing on repeat when I wake up to move from the couch into my bedroom, feeling much better.

The next morning I leave my apartment for the first time in over a day. It’s as if Wednesday never existed. It’s been completely skipped over.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Much better, thanks.” I answer.

The only remnants are the occasional unnatural grumble in my stomach and the silent wish that Martin Sheen were actually running for president.