Dexter Finale...*sigh*

CAUTION: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD! 

IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FINAL EPISODE OF DEXTER, TURN YOUR HEAD NOW, AND GET OFF THE COMPUTER! YOU'RE BOUND TO RUN INTO OTHER SPOILERS SOMEWHERE ONLINE!

I began watching Dexter from the very first episode. I mean c'mon—the premise of a serial killer that you're actually rooting for...are you kidding me? I knew it would be original, and the writing soon proved to be top-notch.

 

For weeks I've been dreading the end of Dexter almost as much as Breaking Bad. As I watched the very last episode, just seeing the opening made me sad when I realized I would it again followed by a brand new story. Unfortunately, it was rather anti-climatic for the most part. Hannah is confronted by Elway, and we think it's over, but she pulls a needle out of Dexter's "emergency" kit, and slips away. Saxton and Dexter run into each other in the hospital, but instead of a big fight scene, the detectives arrest him. It was a string of "huh" moments that didn't do much for me.

Then THE ENDING came, and Deb's surgery had complications. I knew Dexter would come back to put her out of her misery, but the way he just scooped her up and wheeled her outside, then carried her into his boat? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I realize they were in the middle of an evacuation because of the storm, but c'mon. Not only was I pissed that Deb died, but this scene was so far fetched I actually rolled my eyes. The only saving factor was seeing her float down in the water like some kind of angel. I also foresaw Dexter faking his death to save those he loves from his "curse". But how in the hell would someone swim away from a hurricane? I mean really. As someone on Twitter stated, with swimming skills like that, he would put Phelps to shame.

At first I was numb when they faded out from Harrison and Hannah going for ice cream, and figured that was the end. Then they cut into one of the dumbest endings of all time: Dexter becomes a lumberjack, sporting an out-of-place beard that looks like pasted-on pubes. In the end I was just livid. This great series ended by killing off one of our beloved characters, splitting up the two people we've been dying to see have a happily ever after, and making a child essentially an orphan with a lady, who by the way is also a serial killer like his father. What exactly did he accomplish by having Hannah raise Harrison?

I've been saying this ever since Sunday, and I'll say it again: it feels like the writers of the show gave their fans the middle finger. Just to make it clear, I don't blame the actors. They delivered the parts they were given with the talent and skill they've had since the very beginning of the series. But after all those years of dedication we've given the show, it would've been nice to see Deb and Dexter find some kind of happily ever after that we can actually live with.

Obsessed With Death?

In interviews, I'm often asked what's with my obsession with death. Honestly, I never put much though into this until I realized four of my five novels have dealt with death as part of the main storyline, my favorite shows are Dexter and The Walking Dead, and I've started a collection of Day of the Dead statues from Mexico. On second thought, maybe I do have a thing with death. Okay, time to panic.

As pretty much anyone else would do with today's technology, I went on the internet with the intent to self-diagnose. Here are some of the signs I discovered:

1. Your favorite things to do are visit cemeteries to look at graves.

Uh, I seriously have a major issue with cemeteries, and have given my husband strict directions not to bury me in one. I think they're creepy, and that it's morbid to think you're standing over the rotting corpse of someone you love. If I want to remember someone, I would much rather do so with pictures from their happy times on this earth.


2. You have all the Faces of Death movies, and love to look at graphic images of real deaths.

I do enjoy a good zombie movie, though there are more often times than not that I have turned away when a scene become too gory. I usually have to remind myself that it's all Hollywood magic, just so I can continue to watch. I can't imagine I would be able to stomach one minute of the Faces of Death movies—I just Googled it out of curiosity, and about lost my cookies after what I found.

3. You wear black clothing and black makeup.

My daughter would tell you a majority of my wardrobe consists of black and white (she's trying to break me of the habit), but I have yet to don black Doc Martins with black pants and a black top. I do wear black eyeliner, but a very modest amount, like a perfectly normal woman who isn't so great with makeup does. Pretty sure I have a long ways to go until I resemble Winona Ryder's character in Beetlejuice.

4. You're afraid of doing anything for fear of dying or some other tragedy.

While the occasional thought of plunging to a firey death has come to me a time or two when riding an airplane, I would say I'm not fearful of doing things in general. Although terrified of heights, I still climbed part of Mount Rainier, zip-lined and parasailed in Cabo, stood on the top deck of the Empire State Building, and rode dozens of rollercoasters. Looking back, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm a bit too adventurous, and it wouldn't hurt to tone it down a bit.

5. Your favorite thing to write is poetry and journals that speak of death.

Okay, maybe it could be proved in a court of law that I'm guilty of this one, although I suck at poetry, and I stopped writing a journal years ago. But then again, there's the books...

So 4/5 negative answers must prove for something, right? At least I'm telling myself that. I like to think that as death is a natural part of life, I'm just extremely conscious of it, and not trying to pretend like the possibilities aren't looming over our heads. All I know is that I won't be checking into Death Junkies Anonymous anytime soon.