Scratch that.
Doctor Who is my heroin and I'm a junkie.
I'm almost embarassed considering the show has been on since, you know, 1963. Though in my defense, it did stop airing in 1989. And then started again in 2005. Still, I'm not that late to the game. Just, you know, almost a decade from the reboot.
Every night, I work my way through the 86 episodes currently available on Netflix. I'm not reading. I'm not writing. I'm Who-ing.
You can all blame the Doctor.
#9 to be exact.
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And his wickedly sexy grin. No. Seriously. I know if you haven't watched the show you're questioning my taste in men, but there is something about the Doctor and when he grins, you grin and of course you'd follow him to the edge of space and time.
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So if you don't see me for a bit, it's because the TARDIS has landed in my backyard and the Doctor has extended his hand to me and invited me to join him.
Because who could say no to the Doctor?
Even #10 with whom I'm assured I will fall madly in love.
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We shall see...
In the meantime, I'm starting to notice a slightly British slant to my speaking and writing voices. Give me a few weeks and sweaters will be jumpers, elevators will be lifts, and trunks will be boots.
Because I'm impressionable like that.
2 comments:
I did the same thing like a year ago. I watched while I cooked, while I cleaned, while I worked out. My kids fell asleep to The Doctor. My son wants to be a TARDIS for Halloween.
Also, has anyone else said anything about your blog crashing Chrome?
No. But it doesn't suprise me. My blog is mad because I'm contemplating a re-design and it likes the way it looks now and why do I want to change it's colors? Don't I like it how it is?
But yes to the Doctor. :)
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