Warning: This post contains A LOT of spoilers for Game of Thrones season 8. If you’re not caught up on the latest episode, bookmark us and come back once you’re ready to properly debrief.
My name is Jess and for the past 900 hours, I haven’t thought about a single thing but Game of Thrones.
In fact, for the past six weeks, I have done absolutely nothing but devour everything and anything related to Game of Thrones. It kind of… took over my life.
I watched each and every episode far too many times on repeat, I spent late nights reading ridiculous fan theories on Reddit and I’ve contemplated what my family sigil would look like far more than I’d like to admit.
LISTEN: We discuss the final episode of Game Of Thrones:
At this point, I’ve driven away at least three friends from screaming “BRAN IS THE NIGHT KING AND I HAVE THE EVIDENCE TO PROVE IT” in their faces and no, I’m not the least bit embarrassed about it.
But now, after almost a decade, it’s all over FOREVER.
Honestly, I don’t know what to do with my life now, and no, I’m not coping. Not one bit.
You see, there’s a big, painful, Westeros-shaped hole in my heart.
There’s no more countdowns to the new season, no more cancelling plans to stay in and watch the new episode and no more time spent over analysing baseless fan theories. (I’m looking at you, theory that Varys is a Merman.)
There’s no more podcast episodes, no more post-episode memes and I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about with my colleagues now.
I guess we’ll have to start talking to each other about normal, boring things. Like the weather. And whoever the hell the Prime Minister is now.
I CAN ONLY TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER FOR SO LONG, OKAY.
But most of all, there’s a big ol’ Arya-sized hole in my Monday morning.