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I have been enjoying Good Days lately -- a whole string of them, which is lovely, and un-looked for. The air is brimming with October and possibility, and when it isn't, I have been trying my best to keep myself busy.

Sunday: Jonathan's parents and younger sister came to dinner. This I think was a resounding success. The dinner itself went well, the food was fantastic, my cake turned out even better than I'd anticipated (though next time I think there will be more icing), cider was very seasonal & delicious. The company was much enjoyed as well -- the McKeens are pleasant and comfortable and everyone got on very well. Jonathan & Allison & I had Fun With Cameras in the backyard before heading back to Jonathan's apartment for commisseration with Sarah, Hannah, and Victoria, who has just returned from three weeks in Williamsburg, and I have missed her quite a lot, so it was more than usually good to see her. I made a lot of cookies (snickerdoodles & chocolate buttermilk chocolate chip) and they were all eaten, and Taboo was played, and much cheer and goodwill was exchanged.

Monday began with...well, laziness, and me feeling a bit sloshy and thick, but by afternoon Mum & the little girls & I had headed off on an ultimately profitable Goodwill trip, whereupon I acquired the first pair of sandals that I have actually owned and liked in the past five years or so. I loathe flip-flops and anything resembling them with all of my being and most other practical sandals I have come upon would not co-ordinate with anything in my (extremely varied!) wardrobe. But Mum found the splendidest leather t-strap almost-flat sandals, with beading, which I later discovered on the internet retail for around forty-five dollars. I wore them all the rest of the afternoon; they are extremely comfortable and bohemian and will suit next summer's festival-going very well. There were also intruiging black flats with bows & silver buckles, brown & black striped stockings, and a charcoal-coloured hat that looks like a bit like a bucket hat by way of Jane Austen. There was also a Wal-Mart trip, full of kitcheny things and general housekeeping-ness. Almost immediately after we arrived home, Jonathan showed up for a planned photography walk. This was really some of the splendidest fun & glory I've had in ages, I think. The weather was warm and gentle with just a little coldness of breath in the wind, and we explored all sorts of bits and pieces of my town I've hardly or never looked at before, and took pictures of all sorts of odd things. Some of the results from my end will show up on [livejournal.com profile] balladrie before long; I am still sorting them out. There is some lovely magic about finding hidden things in a place you know.

Also I bought some really awesome jewellery involving buttons & owls, and stripey warm fingerless gloves. I mention this partially because I am very happy with my purchase, and partially so that I can tell you about how I bicycled to the mall in the near-dark, and the moon came out, and she was full and pale sheeny gold, an old-lace moon netted in lavender clouds, which darkened on the way home to skeins of navy silk.

Tuesday I woke early to see Dad off: he has gone for a quiet sabbatical in a cabin in the woods, where he has been hiking every day, and reading and writing quite a lot, he told me on the phone this evening. The rest of the day involved watching a lot of Firefly (I first fell in love with Firefly last October and now it has become one of my Autumn Things, like Sunshine and Abigail Washburn and certain sorts of baked goods and combinations of colours in my clothing and the onset of me wearing more eyeliner than usual), and an excursion, which was sort of a walk, and sort of a going to Hockman's for some chocolate caramels and then taking the long way back to the park, where I curled up on the far edge, away from the playgrounds and the city pool and the ball-fields, under several trees, between the picnicking pavillion and the stream. I lay on the grass under the gathering clouds and read The Secret History of Moscow, which along with The Graveyard Book is probably going to be one of this year's most memorable Autumn Books. I missed having one last year, and since Autumn is practically a holiday to me, this was very unfortunate. I had Winter Books that could have done just as well for Autumn but they came too late. The year before that I discovered Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, and the year before that it was Sunshine, which it is now tradition for me to read at the end of October -- I am chomping at the bit to re-read it now, but I make myself wait! -- and bake cinnamon rolls to coincide. Anyway, it started to drizzle (which is a very ugly word; I don't like it; it has very little resemblance to the delicate little scatter-rains I love so much), and my poor library book was getting damp, so I went into the pavillion and got a bit chilly and watched Firefly a bit more, with my chocolates.

I think it was also yesterday when I had the candelabra on my trunk burning so long that the left-most candle is nearly flat, and there is a great mass of picturesque wax dripping down.

Today I have watched more Firefly, read, and gone to Hockman's with Heidi and Leandra, where Leandra got a free chocolate for being ridiculously adorable and grinning her little seven-toothed grin. It's been softly rainy most of this day, too, what Mum called "Seattle rain", my favourite sort of October weather -- it makes one want to be cosy, but also to be outside, and alive. The streets finally smell absolutely of autumn -- wet leaves and far-away woodsmoke and rain and things decaying quietly and willingly, and that undefinable autumnery that must be its very own scent, independent of all material causes. I took a little barefoot not-on-purpose walk down the sidewalk a bit, loving the trees, and in the luxury of dusk stood on the ledge overlooking the road in all the wet. Our house is on a hill, but the hill is only a hill from the back, where it drops steeply down to a patch of grass and the road that feeds into the main through-town one. There's a long sort of curb of wood keeping the yard a little safer, and some odd, thin trees jumbled up together. I love standing on the ledge and just watching things. Mostly cars, but the park is just a little ways from the other side of the road, and the Medicine Shoppe is exactly across, so often there is someone walking by.

We have been making our home more homey by getting all of the decorations out of boxes and putting them on walls where they belong. The living room is almost finished; the bedrooms are pretty well set also. I indeed take pictures when things are more in order and there are fewer boxes everywhere. My bedroom needs more posters -- I will buy them with my paycheck!! -- and I am thinking of copying [livejournal.com profile] lady_moriel and making a collage for my door. I spent a few hours today listening to Lisa Hannigan and NPR, and pulling everything from where it was crammed into my dresser drawers, sorting it out, folding it, and putting it back in, except I hung a lot of things in the Main Clothing Closet (Jonathan was right; I do need to name my four closets), so there is much more room now, and everything is considerably more organised, and my bedroom feels a little bit more settled.

Also I cut myself shaving -- BAH, I HATE RAZORS -- and knocked a shadowbox off the wall, shattering glass everywhere, one bit of which I stepped on. The cut was small, but there was an inconvenient amount of blood. One of these days I will grow out of this? 
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So, I've realised an interesting fact about myself. Most of you will probably not be surprised.

When I enter a new fandom, or am rediscovering an old one, I attempt to connect it to Eliot somehow. Um, yes. While I was waiting to get sleepy last night, I paged through my Complete Eliot and decided that Angel (so far the most likely candidate for Elioting) might find certain passages of Ash-Wednesday and The Hollow Men rather apt. A bit of Rhapsody on a Windy Night, too. Um, yes. I have a feeling it is too late; therapy cannot do me any good now. (But just look at them, will you? I mean really.) And hey,
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
-- reminds me of Simon Tam rather a lot. Oh dear. I haven't really found anyone in any fandom who suits The Waste Land, although I can see River quoting:
A woman drew her long black hair out tight     
And fiddled whisper music on those strings     
And bats with baby faces in the violet light     
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall     
And upside down in air were towers     
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours     
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
And most of you lot know that T.S. Eliot is Remus Lupin's favourite poet. (Shut up. He is. Look at Preludes! And Prufrock! They were practically written about him! And, um, I actually possess about half a draft of an entire Remus-fic based on Rhapsody on a Windy Night. Yes.) And that Four Quartets was written after Mr Eliot took a spin in the TARDIS (definitely post-Time War, because there are references all over the place). And [profile] ressie_noldo and I decided once that the Weialala Leia are an alien race, but that's beside the point.

So, this is Banui's brain on, er, madness. Yes. Going away now.

(Stuff about Life later, maybe. I've been having a few days half-out of the world, which is nice, but I also feel about three times as absent-minded as usual, and I've always been terrifically absent-minded.)
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I was going to write about how (as is generally the case) I'm a bit embarrassed about being emotional, and I'm inexpressibly grateful for all of you, and then I was going to throw in something witty and exciting, but I feel wretched and am not very up to dashing turns of phrase. I've been under the weather most of the week, and it's decided to be tricksy and fool me into thinking I'm all right, so I eat a proper sandwich instead of toast or move about a bit too vigorously, and whoosh! -- here comes the nausea. Great fun, as you can see. It's pounding behind my eyes, too, now. I don't seem to get sick very often, but when I do it just clings. It's never very dramatic, just irritating and uncomfortable and lingering.

Firefly, by the way, is extraordinarily fun to write in. I'm, um. Still writing Christmas presents for my local friends (er, maybe they're very early Valentine's Day presents now?), and most of them are in the Firefly-verse, and -- it's delicious, really. I get a little drunk on words. I love the dialect; it reminds me a bit of the Elizabethan era, when everybody seemed to be so dizzy with wordplay. (Perhaps if I ended up seeing it first-hand I'd be disappointed. Perhaps they just had a disproportionate record of really excellent writings survive, I don't know. Shakespeare's coinages are enough for ten or fifteen writers, to be sure.)

[profile] take_a_sadsong commented on my entry of 31 December with, "I've decided that for me 2008 will be the year of doing, and not just dreaming of doing." Which I think is a brilliant sentiment and exactly what I didn't know I was looking for. It's how I spent most of my time, you know: dreaming of doing. Occasionally I have really extraordinary adventures, but mostly they happen because I have people to drag me along on them. I'm not forthright. I'm not in control of my own destiny. I'm like a character in a bad novel -- I don't act: I'm acted upon. And I remember how good and right I felt after my impulsive trip to Oliver!. I wanted something -- and I got it, because I tried hard and did things that don't come naturally to me. This should be a pattern, rather than an exception. I'm writing this here because I need someone to keep me in mind of it. I mostly forget to make resolutions for the new year (other than the age-old: stop biting my fingernails, and lose weight; for the first time in possibly fifteen years I seem to be making some headway on the former, so that's a bit encouraging even if it is something silly), but that's what I want to resolve. And I want to be better person, because I'm not much of one, really, but doesn't everyone? I just -- feel so tired all the time. And there are so many things I want to do -- learn to sew, write and write and write, work on projects -- and I know in ten years I'll be disgusted with myself because I never did them, and I won't have the time later. But it's so hard to -- do things. Ugh. I don't know. Rubbish to whinge about your own resolutions, isn't it? Bad form.

I think Moony and I are going to go off to watch Firefly together. Because nothing cheers one so much as vests with buckles on the back. (Well. Okay. There are other incentives, too.)
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So, I sort of disappeared for a bit, then, didn't I? Well, I went carolling with the girls, and that sort of mutated into me spending the night at Victoria's, which was great fun. Carolling was also great fun, and it motivated me to sew the buttons back onto my tweed coat. Unfortunately it also required me to wear a skirt which is more or less falling apart, which got to be a bit awkward when I was staying over at the Nielson's without a change of clothing. Anyway, it was dark and the snow was glittering beneath the house lights and we all sounded very nice. The residents of several of the houses looked as though we'd made their night, which was heart-cockle warming to be sure. And then there was the teenaged boy who opened the door, listened to us for a while in a very bemused fashion (while text messaging, apparently), and then shut the door in our faces when we were a line or two from finishing. We think he then sat down at the computer, or so the silhouette in the window told us.

We stopped in for a bit at the Husses, and then went to the Nielsons' to hobnob, have very delicious cocoa (the sort one makes on the stove and not from a mix, which I shall have to have a go at sometime, especially after I harangue Mum into buying some whipped cream for the pie I plan to make for Christmas), admire Victoria's lovely Edwardian and very steampunk jacket, and generally talk loudly with grand hand motions and dance round the room and arbitrarily burst into song. You know, those sorts of things. And then Victoria and I decided that I would stay the night and proceeded to convince our mothers of this. (This thing in which spur-of-the-moment ideas actually happen: I am not used to it at but it is rather wonderful, if slightly dizzying.) Eventually, this led to being up at midnight, cutting out gingerbread with cookie cutters. We got a bit bored of the traditional shapes and began cutting out more interesting things, such as the TARDIS and the Sorting Hat (we were trying for a lightning bolt but neither of us could get it right) and a hobbit hole and a wardrobe and a round cookie on which we drew the Serenity logo with decorator's icing the next morning. She also taught me to play blackjack and ratscrew, which was especially interesting when we were sitting in her attic bedroom, hunched over a small lamp, playing cards in the dark. We played quite a lot of games of ratscrew, so that I got better at it, although I really only won the last one because Victoria was beginning to nod off. She also lent me her copy of Sorcery and Cecelia, which is positively delicious and I am halfway through re-reading it. (Hush now; I read very quickly. Which is why I read everything twice so long as it is not absolutely awful.)

In the morning, Alessandra came by not very long after we woke up (which was late), and we made the decorator's icing for the cookies and started decorating them. We'd begun on some gingerbread men when I thought, well, wouldn't it be brilliant if we made all the crew of Serenity out of gingerbread? Which I voiced aloud: so we did it. We used the regular gingerbread cookies for the blokes and snapped the wings off of some angels for the women. Alessandra had Mal, Inara, and Jayne; Victoria took Wash, Zoe, and River; and I did Simon, Kaylee, and Book. Oh, it was lovely. Especially Jayne, who is instantly, hilariously recognisable. And River, who is carrying round a deer's head.  And Mal, who was bald for quite some time ("Wash! I'm bald!"). (And yes, there will be pictures forthcoming.) Then, because we are really approximately nine years old at heart, we took them into the parlour and played with them. Then we watched The Phantom of the Opera, divvied up the singing parts (Victoria was Christine, Alessandra was Raoul, and I was the Phantom, ostensibly because my voice is the deepest, but I am sure there was some darker motive involved), and Alessandra beat me up with a ketchup bottle.

I slept rather a lot today for some reason. Hmm.

Perhaps soon I will stop having a life and begin making proper posts again.
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So, I'm watching "The Shakespeare Code", because Doctor Who is the best therapy ever, and I've got to the bit where the Doctor is talking to Peter Streete in Bedlam, and he says, "Go into the past. One year ago. Let your mind go back -- back to when everything was fine and shiny."

SO NOT ONLY DO WE PRACTICALLY HAVE PROOF THAT THE DOCTOR HUNG OUT WITH T.S. ELIOT (VIZ. "THE LAZARUS EXPERIMENT"), BUT HE HAS ALSO CLEARLY BEEN TO THE FIREFLY-VERSE. FANDOM, I LOVE YOU.


(What? River and the Doctor would be best friends in ten minutes.)
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[Poll #1104061]
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Well, I have been trying to write a fairly gloomy entry about how I do not feel fantastic and circumstances not to mention hormones seem to be conspiring against me and huddling in dark corners with lots of mysterious maps and papers and whispering in code, but today has not been the sort of day that inspires great moaning from me. (Here I could likely talk about how I am nearly as good at suppressing emotions as Ten is, and it would be completely and utterly true. When I have a good day, it is mostly on the surface; there is always some horrid beastie lurking beneath, waiting to spring the very moment it becomes most irrational to do so. Which makes me feel horrid and unstable, but when I have a good day I can mostly ignore it. Which is probably not terribly good for the brain, but I do like moments of sanity here and there.)

Honestly, now that I'm here, I have no idea what to go on about. I haven't posted in a very long time -- anywhere -- and this would make me feel tremendously guilty if not for this strange business of stuffing emotions into convenient drawers bursting with stray socks and things. Mostly I have been reading the f-list rather dimly with that wretched feeling I get where my head feels as though it is sloshing with thick, nasty corn syrup.

(Shut up, self, nobody wants to read about you been unhappy and unpleasant.)

Today I cleaned the bedroom, which looked like a miniature war zone and has looked this way since, er, July. It needs a mighty vacuuming, but I've got muffins to bake for breakfast tomorrow and anyway I have been in that dratted room cleaning things half the day and I want to read a book, gorram it. I also made cookies, because the gingerbread was gone and I was not capable of waiting until tomorrow for desserty things to show up in my refrigerator and cupboards (and anyway you've got to be careful about pies; the nice thing about cookies is that you can eat lots of them without anyone noticing, at least at the beginning when the container is full -- pies in their neat slices do not lend themselves nearly so well to compulsive comfort eaters unless said people live alone). Oh dear, commas, I'm sorry. You can come out to play now, I promise.

Also I have nearly finished all of the library books I got out on Saturday and it is only Wednesday. This is worrying. I might be forced to, er, re-read something. Which would be dreadful. Even if there are bookmarks in at least two books on my shelves that I started to re-read and got distracted by Library Books Which Must Be Consumed In A Week's Time. Also also I would like to make an entry someday about Really Fantastic Films I Have Seen Recently but now that I've mentioned it I will probably never get to it. Anyway it would probably get all geeky and technical in the end, or just odd ("how can he be so worked up about nobody taking him seriously enough and yet flaunt a moustache like that? that is not a Serious Moustache!" -- "he's working on it! he's got a government grant!"). Also to the third power: Time Crash = unintelligable syllables of fangirly glee and Steven Moffat needs the universe on a shiny, shiny platter already, HULLO BBC.

Other thing I keep not posting: philosophical, grammatical, and anthropological musings on Firefly. Because, yes, I actually do spent great amounts of time thinking about these things. (Especially the linguistic aspects! Honestly some of the slang is so right on I wonder if Joss Whedon did a crash course in linguistics or just has an ear for things. I KNOW I KNOW NOBODY ELSE EVER CONSIDERS HOW FICTIONAL SLANG DEVELOPS IN A FICTIONAL UNIVERSE OVER SEVERAL CENTURIES SHUT UP.)

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and the thing about Thanksgiving is that it always seems to arrive when I am absolutely the least ready for it. I seem to always be at my most despondent and lonely and frustrated in November. But holidays are beautiful, and that little sequestering of magic -- well, it's nice. The thing I like about Thanksgiving is that it's very, almost reverently, quiet. I suppose it isn't nearly this way for lots of people, but my family has almost always spent Thanksgiving alone, and there's something very intimate and beautiful about it.

I haven't any idea what I'm even saying anymore; time to fix up some muffins and go to bed.
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So, have been functioning and not functioning in rather dizzying succession, and have been mostly scanning the internet in a sort of haze and not getting anything done. (Sounding familiar yet?) The good news is that I saw Serenity and it was fantastic (and I really really do need to say something more concrete about both Firefly and Serenity eventually...another one of those things I Am Going To Do Later. Actually, probably when my laptop comes home. Then I can, you know, write about Simon's waistcoats when I should be sleeping.)

So, in lieu of an actual post, here's some music I've been listening to lately.


* * *

Today it was windy and rainy and dark, and a few hours ago I slipped out of the house with my cloak on and ran around outside staring at the trees, blazing in orange and gold -- the two great orange trees across from our parking lot have carpeted the road with leaves. And it was dusk and the clouds were so thick and dark and stormy and there was rain of water and rain of leaves and it was perfect. The world rarely looks the way it seems to in photographs and films, but tonight glimmered with the sorts of lights and shadows and contrasts that you don't believe exist. I ran barefoot up the back road and along the base of the hill and the wind whipped me round and I was gloriously chilly and wet. The rest of the day was unexceptional, but this evening made it magical.
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I keep opening a tab to post, and then I find I'm at a loss as to what to post about. I've been puttering along as usual, the thoughts in my head have been fairly benign, and I'm not feeling particularly bad or particularly good, all in all. I want to say something interesting and clever but there doesn't seem to be much of the interesting or clever amongst the scattered things in my head. Perhaps it will come in a bit, because I have noticed a fascinating trait about myself: whenever I say that I do not have a lot to say, I somehow end up going on for paragraphs.

i. October has come, and the world is finally beginning to really taste like autumn. I am waiting for the tree overhanging my roof and peering into my window to change -- it goes a brilliant gold and fills the room with light. But it is stubbornly remaining green, which rather gets in the way of the autumnal aesthetic I seek. And several days ago my mother and siblings and I lay on our backs on the front lawn and watched the clouds -- the tree across the road has gone gold and there is a spray of leaves beneath it, and there was a thunderstorm rolling in, great dark looming clouds billowing after one another like briny waves churning in the sky and the wind rushing through the leaves and scattering them hither and thither.

ii. I have finished Firefly! Which is rather sad, because now there isn't any more, but now I can abscond with someone's copy of Serenity and at last wander comfortably around fandom. I should make a post about Firefly eventually, because there is so very much to say about it and I don't think I've got the energy for it just now, or the presence of mind, because I start to compose something and it ends in flailing and gibberish and squee. I want to do a great big meta-y post on the pioneer/Oriental culture and how perfect it is, but it keeps on not coming out. Well, maybe when I get my laptop back. Hopefully it will be fixed properly so that I can actually get documents off of it.

iii. I, er. Want to say something. I just don't know what it is. Er, stuff.
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Oh, I've had such a lovely day, and I'm so sleepy that the wrongest of words are all tumbling about arbitrarily in my head and out of my fingers, but I feel emotionally refreshed. I've spent lots of the day romping with several of my chums; we mucked about at the Goodwill and played a 1980s edition of Trivial Pursuit and gabbed and went to a barbecue and bonfire and I watched red-gold sparks burning through the sky as through a great skein of cobalt silk. And I discovered quite by accident, because we were playing Trivial Pursuit and Victoria burst out with "curse your sudden yet inevitable betrayal!" and I shouted excitedly, "You watch Firefly! I love you!" -- and so that was how I discovered that in recent months they have all been falling in love with Firefly and somehow neglecting to mention this altogether, the twits! But now I've got at least two people who might lend me Serenity, and, astonishingly, a whole lot of people who will understand my nerdy jokes. (I know, it's been, what, two weeks? And yet the nerdy jokes and conspiracy theories are already cropping up like dandelions.)

oh I'm ever so sleepy; if it weren't for this useful spell-checking thingummy you wouldn't be able to read this post at all I'm sure. at any rate there are already far too few commas.

and I shall reply to more of your comments eventually; I appreciate them all so very, very, very much and you lot are marvellous, really.
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i. Right, so, I am leaving for Connecticut tomorrow; and yes, it's only a little less sudden to me than it is to you lot. Dad desperately needs a holiday and has managed to get time off of all of his jobs for this weekend, so we are running off to the Strawberry Park Folk Festival tomorrow and shall be back on Monday. I am rather excited at the prospect, abrupt as it is, because Richard Shindell will be there. (Also Lucy Kaplansky and Dave Mallet and...some other people.) And the weather will be chilly and a bit drizzly and the main stage is surrounded by trees and I could not ask for a better atmosphere. (See, the thing about music festivals is that they are usually terribly hot, and I am not fond of that sort of weather, nor tans, neither. Hot and shadeless, hark you. So this, really, is completely marvellous.) There will be internet access, but I doubt I'll be able to post. And oh, scarves and jumpers and cape, how I've missed you!


ii. In fact, it is beautifully autumnal today -- I am wearing my favourite orange jumper and a cranberry-coloured vest, and the wind is sharp and biting and crisp and evenings are beginning to be a bit witchy, with the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows and leaves fluttering hither and thither. The trees are still mostly green, but I can sense it -- any day now we shall wake up and find that the tree in front of my window has gone gold.


iii. Thanks to the machinations of the thoroughly magnificent [profile] lady_moriel , I have just seen my first episode of Firefly. This sounds horribly stoic and businesslike, so picture, if you will, me jumping over piles of clothing and papers and musical instruments in my bedroom, waving my arms like a crazed propeller. Because VERILY IT IS MADE OF AWESOME ADSKLHGLKHG *flail*. The characters! The music! The production values! The plot! The scifi-western-Chinese aesthetic! (Which is so perfectly right that it deserves a meta-y post of its own eventually.) The costumes! The witty repartee dialogue! The awesome! Have I mentioned the characters? Only I think I am madly in love with each and every one already.

And of course I would begin watching this right before I go off on holiday and can't see another episode for five days.

Which I ought to be preparing for straightaway. Oh, and still no word on Oliver!. Good grief, it's been a week. And, er, I am wretchedly behind on the f-list and on emails, so -- really, I'm sorry. I'm a bit harried at the moment, and I am trying to get to you all as best I can. ♥

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