(no subject)

[hathycol]

I'm sat on my bed, I'm listening to Radio 1, and I'm using my own computer to use the internet, albeit admittingly occasionally getting my flustered technology face. However, I think I have mastered the wireless.

I think there is a not entirely small chance I will never go downstairs again unless it's entirely necessary. My room is peaceful, relatively clean - as clean as you can get with two rooms worth of stuff bunged into a very small bedroom, anyway - and here I can do what I enjoy, away from the hassle that is attempting to communicate to my batshit tribe of a family. Given I have pretty much re-read everything I own, it is good I know have access to Teh Intarwebs.

I have nothing more useful to write than that, to be honest. Er. I have work tomorrow, which is a depressing concept - early, late, early, late is a horrific work shcedule for the next four days, because I hate pulling a late to early - but I am still of work for some time, and I am going to continue to ignore my family because I sort of can't cope with them at the moment.

I have time to read fic. Bloody hell. Rec me up for some end-of-series Doctor Who stuff, please, because LOOK AT ME AND MY SEMI-MAGICAL BEING ON THE INTERNET SELF.

Comments

[not-vacillating.livejournal.com]

I assume you've read loneraven's 'Terms of Art' by now-- if not, go read it. My DW John Smith fic is still in the beta stage, alas.