Though I have many friends (sometimes too many, damn it, so would some of you please do something to bump you from the list?) and spend much time with those friends, engaged in very enjoyable activities, I am a selfish ratbag and crave more. My pop culture friends and family, the ones who surround me with love and affection in the glow of my television, commune with darkened theatres or nestle with me in bed on my laptop. I am filled with sadness as network executives and also common sense force me to leave some beloved, fictional friends. Yeah, I know. You don’t have to say it.

But, we never even got to say goodbye.

Middle aged men, I hardly knew you. Men of a Certain Age looked like the kind of show I was going to hate, begrudgingly watch and then complain about to my friends over deep fried foods. But no. It made me love it. I didn’t think I’d ever love something named Romano that wasn’t a cheese. Bakula, you heart-punching scoundrel. And Andre Braugher, I think I’m going to miss you most of all. Of course I am, and I hope you win that Emmy.

Oh, how I’ve wept over our parting, Friday Night Lights. Does this seem ridiculous? I don’t know. Have you listened to Coach Taylor at all? Have you learned nothing from the frank talk, y’alls and white wine lessons of Tami Taylor? Have you seen Tim Riggins with his shirt off being all broody and quaintly but truly philosophical? Then get off my field.

This one still hurts. Harry Potter, as a series I’ll miss our special, big, celebratory evenings together. Truly. And sure I have love to give all the characters in different ways. But. Snape. You sexy devil in an Alan Rickman package, I am shuddering as I tear up right this minute. Does this sadness seem disproportionate? Maybe, if you’re a total jerk with no feelings and a deep pit of molten jackass for a heart.

Goodbye, fake people that gave some meaning to my life. I’m sure some other fake people will come around and I’ll learn to love again.