If Ever I Had Romantic Troubles, Chris Carter Will Be the First Person I'll Blame

Stolen from Molly and every other recovering X-Phile out there:

They totally had sex once they moved the making-out out of frame. YES, THIS IS WHAT MY SHIPPY MIND BELIEVES. I DON’T CARE IF THEY’RE FICTIONAL. Ten years after the fact and I still can’t seem to get over them. Oh Mulder/Scully, I wish I could quit you.

On a side note, Gillian Anderson is acting her heart out but David Duchovny (why won’t you love me?) seems to have the emotional range of a teapsoon (ah, thanks J.K. Rowling). OH X-FILES. HOW YOU HAVE RUINED ME FOR OTHER TV SHOWS. RUINED, d’you hear?

A little romantic cheer hasn’t gone amiss, especially in the light of the economy sailing strong on the failboat and the fact that winter has settled in like an unwelcome guest. This past weekend I went down to New Brunswick to see Bear and Katranna. Katranna and I spent most of Saturday chatting and cooking up a faux-Thanksgiving feast while Bear studied at school. My cooking skills are deplorable, as well you all may know, culminating in scenes like this:

KATRANNA: (reading instructions) “Drain the juice of one can into–”
JJ: (proudly) Done!
KATRANNA: “–into saucepan…”
JJ: Oh.
KATRANNA: Eh, we’ll just add some more cornstarch.
JJ and Katranna start making cherry pie filling.
JJ: Huzzah, cherry pie!
KATRANNA: …I don’t think we were supposed to add the cherries until the sauce thickens.
JJ: Oh.
KATRANNA: It’s so much easier to make filling from scratch! (And without JJ in the kitchen!)

Nevertheless, the food turned out to be more than edible, including the pie. We had vegan feast of tofurkey, green beans, butternut squash, a salad with raspberries, rice pilaf, and cherry pie. Afterwards Bear and I went to a party where we got drunk and played Smash Bros well into the wee hours of the morning. The next day we both went to school where I tried to get some work done on my revisions but ended up napping on the examining table in the small group study room. I fail.

My mother once told me never to study where I sleep or else get my Pavlovian responses confused. I seem to have conditioned myself into working only when I’m in transit. There’s something about train travel that’s very conducive to writing. Now why can’t I find that psychological space at my desk like a normal human being? I need to start re-conditioning my brain.

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