Er, those of you on Facebook or Twitter may have noticed my capslocked squealings about going to a Colbert Report recording. And how it was epic beyond words.

Well! Read about it here! Short and squeeful.

COLBERT!

I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird.

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

look for your small xx,
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be be heard.

I'm living this poem at ( Read more... )

I'd like to preface this by saying that I do know that this is all self-indulgent bollocks. Just had to vent, stupid as it all will sound.

( Spoilers and sighs. )

It's twenty to ten, and it smells like freshly-baked cake downstairs; a smell that's wafted its way up here, despite my bedroom door being shut. I'm sitting on my bed, surrounded by minutae; some of it I still need to pack, some not. And in just over nine hours, I'll leave this house for two months ( Read more... )

Want to know something really sad?

I'd quite like to re-watch Children of Earth; it's been a while since I saw any of it back, and I know there's a couple of things I missed that I'd like to check out.

But I'm too scared to do it, because I know that the last two episodes will just break me into little pieces again; even if it's only for a couple ( Read more... )

ARGH I WISH I KNEW MY BLOODY EXAM RESULTS.

That is all.

I am currently sitting on my bed, wrapped in a towel, with a pungent lathering of purplish-red gunk on my head, having made a mess of the bathroom ( Read more... )

Well, here I am; eating my second bacon sandwich of the evening (which can't be a good idea), watching the Torchwood fandom explode with rage, from a clear distance, and I have a meme, nabbed from the Queen of Newport herself; insevens. Have a look!

Leave me a comment with "Across the stars" in the subject line. I'll respond by asking you five questions ( Read more... )

Fuck, I'm all over the place. Look no further than the tags.

Listening to I Cried For You by Billie Holiday isn't helping, either, yet I'm still doing it. I'm clearly a bit of a sadist.

I'm going to have a bath and read Northanger Abbey, I think. Or possibly Maurice.

Ah, there's nothing like too much snacking, a day stupidly spent mostly watching Scrubs rather than seriously revising, general panic about an impending exam and a rush of blood to the head from a quick exit from the bath, combining in its delicious glory and creating top-level nausea on my part.

I'll just be over here; trying not to vomit.

( Read more... )