I am a “rabbit of negative euphoria”

countdown to twelve begins… now

It took me forever to get into Eleven, and once I started to love him… *poof* Two more episodes and it’s time for a new regeneration.

So much for being on series 8. So much for being under contract thru 2014.

I’m loving all the guessing as to who will become Twelve but the Cumberbabe should not even be considered.

NO. JUST. NO.

I don’t care that Moftiss work(s?) on Who. The ‘babe belongs on Sherlock, and for more than just series three.

Kind of related:

My friend has been living under a rock for the past few years and is just now finally watching the Harry Potter movies. (He’s read the books, at least, so that’s something…) I kind of like his FB statuses about seeing the movies for the first time. It reminds me of getting into Doctor Who, and Sherlock, The Hunger Games and, well, basically every fandom I’m a part of on tumblr. Watching the new kids join Teh Crazy, becoming one of the new kids… It’s a rite of passage almost and I’m glad I’m a part of it. I mean,  it’s kind of awesome, really. I suppose it’s what parents feel when they watch their kids exploring the world for the first time. 

Instead of prepping for tomorrow’s phone screen, I’m writing fan fic. Cabin Pressure this time.

What can I say? I’ve decided I like playing in other people’s sandboxes.

The ghost in the cellar

this man was made for b&w photography

My entire life - ENTIRE LIFE - I’ve only had two nightmares. TWO. I mean, I’ve had bad dreams, but these are the waking up screaming, shaking, afraid to turn on the lights type. And they’re recurring. That’s the best part of it all… they’re always the same, no matter what. Even though I have them over and over and over and over, they always scare the crap out of me.

In the first one I’m being chased by Michael Myers. It’s always the same. I’m getting chased through a mall, I wind up in the basement of the house I grew up in and somehow I end up killing him. Like no more sequels dead. And it scares me shitless every. single. time. Even though I know how to kill him. Even though I ALWAYS kill him.

In the second one, I’m reliving my father’s death: finding him and identifying him in the casket before his cremation. Honestly, this one is probably more terrifying than the Myers one because it’s real. I can’t deal with reliving that… and it’s probably the one that shakes me to the core the most. Which is understandable, I guess.

Last night, I had a new one. One that woke me up twice. I was afraid to fall back asleep because I didn’t want to wake up a third time shaking and sweaty.

There was a ghost in the basement of the house I grew up in. Mind you, despite it’s appearance in two of my nightmares, this is a basement I’d never really been terrified of. I maybe was a little spooked by it because there was wood paneling in one half and my overactive imagination used to see faces in it. The other half was my father’s workshop and it wasn’t really finished. It’s where I spent a lot of time playing ping pong or even Barbies on those random occasions. It shouldn’t scare the shit out of me as much as it did last night. Whatever was down there was mean, and it was obvious that it meant to do me harm.

I’m not sure what to do, but I haven’t been able to shake it so far today.

I’m really hoping this is a random thing and not a new nightmare to add to the rotation…

but I can’t help wondering if this is the universe’s payback for all the new found luck on my job search.

Here’s to good friends

there are so many good things about this picture, i can’t even…

Went out to lunch today with Silent P.

I can’t remember the last time I braved Portsmouth during tourist season, but it wasn’t too bad today.

We went to the Gas Light and - once again - they proved my theory that I’ve only ever crossed paths with one chef who can cook a burger to order. It’s not rocket science. I can’t cook, but if I did, I’m sure I could figure it out. I’m a whiz at baking and baking is harder, so therefore, poking a burger to make sure it matches the “fist test” can’t be that hard.

Actually, the guy that taught me the fist test just happens to be the only one that can cook a burger…

Interesting.

Anyhoo.

After we ate, we walked around the city. I forget how beautiful it can be around there. It’s like Boston, but smaller. Much easier to trip over the tourists.

We bonded over the weirdest things. He really is a kindred spirit in so many ways.

I’m bummed I left the Muchachos because it means I don’t get to see him too often, but I’m glad he wants to continue the friendship outside of the corps.

Rebuilding a life is hard - especially when you’re the one who nuked it - but it is possible.

Thanks for reminding me of that, Silent P.