"You chose to change. He chose to die."

I am writing fic.

I have to say it quietly, because I'm so frightened of jinxing it. I haven't written fic since November 2006, for various reasons but mostly because my head was too messed up for it. And then a couple of days ago I wrote, and I kept writing, and it was great. I took my laptop to the Social Science Library because I thought I wouldn't be distracted from, er, Sinhalese majoritarianism in Sri Lanka, but I sat there with my books in the absolute quiet of the reading room, pulled up the right window and wrote fic. I'm very happy, but quietly.

In fact, let's not talk about that any more.

In other news, tonight was the last Cerberus event of term. I think that in my time as reigning Triarch, this was definitely our best show. Fifteen people turned up to have dinner with Peter Singer, and about fifty to hear him speak, and I actually really enjoyed it. He spoke on the sanctity of human life, arguments against, and at least people got emotive about it. I was annoyed at two people's behaviour - one PPEist whom I don't like generally, because if you don't agree with him, you're wrong, and while we're all painfully used to his total lack of regard for anyone else's opinion, you don't attack a guest speaker, get childishly pissed off when he tactfully moves on and turn your chair around and have a sulk, and also one of my tutors from last term, whom Wolfgang (another Triarch) had to quietly shush to allow other people to talk.

(Honestly, why can't these people behave? It's only a matter of sitting in a chair quietly and listening, and knowing how long is too long when you talk. Such egotism.)

Before dinner, Sam (yet another Triarch) introduced me to a friend of his living in Oxford. I smiled and said hello as you do, and it wasn't until much later, when I heard his last name, that I realised I'd just met pinkishmew's brother. And made tiny noises of squee, because eee, tiny tiny world. (The difficult part was Sam saying, "Oh, wow, you know Neill's sister! How?" and me going, "Er... the internets..."

Anyway, where was I? Busily recounting tales of Cerberus, because, alas, I haven't been around much lately. This is my proverbial Week O'Crazy, because on top of the usual - Cerberus, two essays, associated tutes, OULES - my parents appeared for a couple of days, and I've got to go to London for AIESEC this weekend, and I signed up to spend most of the weekend at the language centre to hone my non-existent ability for language, and I'm also doing Tiptop's art design from scratch, because I am crazy. Anyway, that's why I've not been around and have been being a bad friend, in general. Too much to dooooo. Favourite among these things to do has been being picked up, hit, punched, generally knocked around and dropped on Wadham gardens, courtesy of OULES rehearsals and my very bad habit of volunteering for things. (There are pictures on Facebook entirely without context, it's marvellous.)

Er, that's it. I babble because I am kind of failing a little bit - this is me six hours before a tute for which I have not written a word, and am not planning to - but, really, I'm coping. Sure, it would be nice to cope and get everything done, but I think my own sanity is quite precious to me. And also, I adore being Triarch, and I love languages, and it makes Pat so happy that I do her art design, and it was great to see my parents. (AIESEC will be deserving of love the moment they learn to use punctuation in a manner consistent with the rest of the human race.) And I utterly [[heart]] OULES; it's so much fun, being surrounded by people who are vastly more talented than you but are perfectly happy to let you play. And drop you on your head.

Um. Also. I have watched Human Nature and Family of Blood far too many times for someone who supposedly has a lot of work to do. John Smith! Oh, John Smith oh woe.

Oh, also, again! Fic recs.

Impossible Things, by casirafics.
The Doctor and Martha, the Doctor and Reinette, the Doctor and John Smith; the Doctor who's been lonely so long he can't remember anything else. Beautiful writing, beautiful flow, and, oh, Doctor. [Spoilers through FoB]

The first of Five Variations On An Inspiration, by troyswann.
Sal's stories are always wonderful, but this one struck a chord; this is Daniel Jackson in the desert on Abydos, being so very painfully himself, and her prose is, as usual, perfect.