It’s that time of year again: the foliage is turning, midterms have laid claim to all of our souls and Liz is contemplating whether or not to give up on “Grey’s Anatomy.”

Shonda Rhimes’s gang of neurotic beauties and I have been through a lot together – infidelity, marriage, miscarriage, ferry crashes, the afterlife, homosexuality, homophobia, PTSD, new hair colors and, most recently, mass murder. It’s not that I feel particularly bonded to these irrational characters, as I did in the case of the similar bright star of a soap, “The O.C.;” rather, I keep hoping the relationships and characters will return to a state of balance. For the months between the season six finale and this fall’s season seven premiere, “Grey’s” was like a pile of phoenix’s ashes. Its audacious two-hour finale episode had a widower go after Dr. Shepherd, who pulled the plug prematurely on the man’s wife, and the man kills more than a dozen innocents along the way. The energy of those losses has, in accordance with science, been preserved to this season, but I’ll reserve judgment on the effective conversion of that energy until the Christmas hiatus.

To gain some perspective on how far Grey’s has come, or some would say fallen, and to do some procrastination similarly befitting of midterms, I spent this weekend re-watching the first season of the show, which has been uploaded to Hulu. There was much discussion last year about the “perfect” pilot or the “perfect” first season, and I, wading my way through the first eight episodes at Seattle Grace, am comfortable declaring it a near flawless premiere. All of the characters are empathetic – even Katherine Heigl’s Izzie – and the harmony of medical cases, personal drama and thematic narration makes for very tight and affecting hours of television.

The first season arguably benefits from the novelty of the romantic relationships, the excitement of Mer and Der or Burke and Yang. I, however, am convinced that the treatment of sex in this season is more tongue-and-cheek and less exploitative than later plots (the season finale exhibits self-awareness with STDs taking center stage). Heck, I even miss crotchety Ellis Grey and the generational anchoring she provides for the young people and medicine. The future, diegetic and non-diegetic, is promising in those first few tales from intern life, even if the season itself was stunted by the writers’ strike (how long ago does that feel?).

So where are we in season seven? The short answer is caught up in adult issues, but, unfortunately, the show doesn’t treat it as such. The first few episodes featured a psychiatrist evaluating the attendings, residents and interns impacted by the mass murder, an interaction that provided structure and a great opportunity for probing the development of the characters. Now that that’s over, all of our favorite characters have been left in different states of recovery.

That choice, seemingly necessary for variation, is in fact hindering the forward progression of the show. The most obvious example of this is Cristina, who spent the last episode repeating “I don’t know” when asked to participate. One critic I read remarked that “Grey’s” has become notorious for pushing our loyalty to the brink before rewarding us with resolution, an observation that proved true at the episode’s conclusion. Though I can acknowledge the astuteness of that analysis, I didn’t feel rewarded. Neuroses such as Cristina’s have taken on a macabre, heavy air, and I worry that, so long as the narrative focuses on how broken everyone is, we will never be able to have a purely silly episode à la seasons one and two. Rather than pigeonholing characters like Torres to sating that audience desire, Rhimes should push all of the actors to prove their worth, to prove their ability to improve on the sacrificed roles of Izzie, George, Burke, etc.

To say goodbye to a show that still airs every week is a dramatic choice. I myself have recently experienced this trauma with “Glee.” I think I’ll stick around for more “Grey’s Anatomy” this season, but, depending on the gimmick-to-narrative development ratio, I may have trouble justifying it next season. The remote is to television programming as the ballot is to politics, so get out and rock both equally passionately.

WHAT TO WATCH NEXT WEEK

Sunday at 10 p.m.: “The Walking Dead” premieres and promises to scar your conception of Atlanta forever (AMC)

Monday at 9 p.m.: Speaking of Atlanta, watch the “K” ladies (most notably Kim and Kandi) on “Real Housewives of Atlanta” (Bravo)

Monday at 9:30 p.m.: Last week, a Marie Claire columnist professed her disgust at “Mike & Molly” for showing fatties in heat. See if you agree (CBS)