I’ve become the chick that screams at the TV. I now hate the name Rose. I hate flowers and boxes of chocolate. I hate his eyes. I hate the phrase "I love him." I hate how attached I’ve become, how I want so much to stop watching but I can’t pull myself away. It’s like Miles of Chocolate. All because of anticipation and hope. Hoping so so much that Derek and our girl Grey will find their way back to each other. I cannot deal. I don’t want to think of the possibilities of them not being together because, in the end, all any of us want is a happy ending.

And yet. If Derek and Meredith were together now, I’d never watch the show. It’s all I’m rooting for. And I suppose anticipation really is better than the getting. Because once Rose goes away–which she will–we’re meant to see how much Meredith can change, how much they can each improve without each other, so they’re finally ready to be together. Which, I suspect, will leave us all a little annoyed. Like, that’s it? We suffered through all of that for this?

So as much as I throw a fit, there wouldn’t be much to look forward to if they were happily ever after. You know, aside from baby pictures and seeing how Meredith would juggle being a mother and a surgeon. At least the Sex & The City movie is coming. Another thing that’ll turn me into a psycho screaming at the screen.