Domestic violence is not funny…(?)

On my laziest of days I can be found in my bed, laptop on my lap, watching hulu, or something on Netflix.  Today was no different.  I haven’t put in an honest day’s work in like a week.  We’ve had a few snow days and school was canceled. So I’m watching Private Practice.

There was a time when I could tolerate Private Practice.  I haven’t been able to for quite sometime and yet I continue to watch. I am ashamed.  After today’s episode I won’t watch anymore. In fact, I can’t even finish this one. Why? I’ll tell you why.

Long story short, Violet makes a dramatically unprofessional career choice (again), it backfires (as always), a violent offender breaks into her home (again), the audience finds her on the floor covered in blood (as always), the woman she was hiding is stabbing her abusive husband repeatedly (that’s actually never happened before — surprisingly…), and she pleads with this battered woman to stop because he’s dead (emphatic, dramatic exclamation point here).


I literally laughed out loud.  There fails to be one shred of normalcy in the lives of these characters.  Not one.  They live lives with which I cannot identify; and I have been through the ringer.  In my lifetime I have met interesting people, but none like Violet Turner.  She is a psychiatrist who was raped during undergrad, went to Harvard, dated a man who broke up with her and married a younger woman several months later, gets pregnant but doesn’t know who the father is and doesn’t really want to figure it out, treats patients and doesn’t care about boundaries ( I mean really, who has sexual relationships with two men in the office, and refuses to investigate paternity?), then a patient of hers forces her way into her home and CUTS HER STOMACH OPEN AND STEALS HER BABY, then Violet heals, leaves the baby with the father to “go find herself”, comes back, marries the dad, dad has a heartattack, he gets better, they divorce, she starts a new relationship with a much younger man WHO WORKS AT THE HOSPITAL and NOW, a woman she met at the airport 6 MONTHS AGO while she was running away from her husband (again) to go on a book tour for the amazing book she got published, stumbles into her life and her husband is the abusive dude getting stabbed on the floor when I started guffawing like a llama.

Wheew.        SERIOUSLY?!

I’m going to go and paint. And write.