I seem to have been on a hiatus, much like Sherlock. Oh, well. This isn't for anyone but me. Rather cathartic.
But, as is always the case when I turn to the written word to express that which lurks, I'm feeling rather conflicted. This time, and I dearly hope that no one ever sees this, it is on matters of the heart. Since celebrities were a thing, there have been passing fans, casual fans, fans, biggest fans and obssessed fans, now known collectively as fan girls. I fear I am straying into this last category with a British actor. I've already descended into those depths with the British show Doctor Who. But it seems to me that the British Isles is the only place that produces things that can knock the logic I so carefully adhere clean out of the water. I've always felt that I am perhaps a genetic throwback to the British branches of my family tree. The liking tea thing at the age of eight when neither of my parents do should have tipped me off that I was not like the rest of my red-blooded American family. While, yes, I do enjoy typically American things, British things have always held a strong allure. I'm also an accent mimicker, if that is such a word. My own naturally adapts to whatever I'm hearing. The different accents of the British Isles? Picked up far more readily and rapidly. I've also made some changes to my career plans that my immediate family does not agree with. I'm going to fight to become an actor. I can do it. I know I can. I have a great imagination, I can lie, and I've got more than two facial expressions, even when I'm completely exhausted. I'm also not afraid of hard work. Hell, the past two years of my life with school have been nothing but spirit crushing work. And I. Didn't. Quit.
But that doesn't stop me dreaming a foolish dream. I'll fulfill part of it. The other part will doubtless go unfulfilled.
