Feb. 28th, 2009

allfireburns: Emily Prentiss, grinning over her shoulder. (Default)
I'm writing a ficthing that's going to make me rewatch Cyberwoman if I want to actually finish it. I'm sulking over this, just a bit. I can watch and even enjoy Cyberwoman in the right mood, but... yeah. Right mood. Doesn't happen often. Maybe we could go at it with the Torchwood drinking game, but I'm not sure that would help with the actual canon review part of it, which is kind of the whole point. Anyway.

It's lovely and cool out today. Considering the last few days have been like living in some horrible hellpit, I'm ecstatic about this. The downside is that I'm cold now, any jacket I could put on is too warm, and I don't want to close the windows just yet, because for once I'm awake during the day and don't want to die from the heat! It's awesome!

I might just go downstairs, though, where it is slightly warmer. I can do that on my own, now that it's light out. Go downstairs, I mean.

The thing is, there are two sets of stairs up to our apartment. And the one that we usually use, the one that's closer to both our apartment and Jaqui's, is closed right now for construction - there's not even construction on the stairs, there's just construction near the stairs, and it's all kind of dumb, but whatever. This means we have to go around to the other stairs, on the far end of the building. These stairs are unreasonably dark underneath, even during the day. These stairs sometimes don't have a working light. The puppy refuses to go up or down these stairs without quite a bit of encouragement.

Evie and I have decided there's a troll that lives under there. This is the best explanation.
allfireburns: Emily Prentiss, grinning over her shoulder. (Default)
Lately, when I can't get my brain to work for other things, I start working on my epic Doctor Who timeline... thingy. Because I like having a reference for my canon, and as it is, everything I need is all scattered around the internet. So I'm... collating.

I just got stuck in the 1980s. For, like, two and a half hours. GAH.

I'm gonna go... write... now. Or do something that's not staring at dates and episode titles.

(As a note, 1973 was not a good year for the Master. Although not quite as embarrassing as the year before that, which is when the plastic daffodils come into play. ...God, I would HOPE he finds that embarrassing. Master, THIS IS WHY YOU ALWAYS LOSE.)