The urge to write has been strong, but whenever I sit down to start, I find myself distracted, as I often do when I have a new obsession. What’s grabbed my imagination this time is the phenomenon known as Doctor Who.
When I was little, my dad would watch Doctor Who, and I never took any interest. All I remember is the guy with the curly hair and stripey scarf.
Yeah. Him.
Fast forward to last Christmas when my parents were visiting and there was a marathon featuring the 11th doctor. I only caught a few episodes, but I was intrigued. Caught up in my own life, I had to leave The Doctor to his own devices until I could devote some time to seeing what he was all about.
I watched the first few episodes, and ERMAHGERD. I don’t think love could really describe how I feel. I started watching only at night, and then when I was working out, and pretty soon it was whenever I could squeeze in a few moments with The Doctor.
Between the feels of Rose and The Doctor, and the general sexiness of David Tennant, it was probably inevitable that I would become obsessed.
Obsession is nothing new to me. Whenever I find something that piques my interest, I am all over it and burn through it like a dwarf star.
Sherlock? I watched every episode, read all about Benedict Cumberbatch, pinned a whole bunch of Sherlock memes to my geek board and got my husband to re-watch all of the episodes with me.
Divergent? Once Upon a Time? Star Trek? Same thing. Now, I am burning through Doctor Who. And oh, how I burn.
David Tennant. I’ll join you in the Tardis.
Yes, please.
So, I would write more, but I am half way through the episodes with the 11th doctor, and I need to get ready for when the 12th doctor arrives. He’s no David Tennant, but really, who is?
Ponies and Martinis 