So, it’s Tuesday night. And for the past several months, this has meant nothing to me. But three years ago, one seemingly innocuous night of the week took on an omnipotent, almost evil significance. No, it was not the night of my Narcotics Anonymous meetings (joke). It was the night of Lost, a nefarious intoxicating substance masquerading as a television show. For the past three years, I’ve tried with all my might to shake the addiction… to no avail. I am its prisoner. Like a toxic relationship, I have stayed right by Lost’s side as it bitch-slaps me with polar bears, sucker-punches me with smoke monsters, and then apologetically caresses me with cheap explanations that only lead to more questions.