ten impossible things before breakfast

I am supposed to be reading Green Grass, Running Water (by Thomas King) for class but of course I got distracted by Katie Forsythe. Her second instalment of Softly and Suddenly quite plainly torn me apart. Now, I’m not a fan of slash, platonic bromance is more my taste – but GAH, she writes so good. The vile things Holmes says out of hurt and out of self protection are so terrible, but you understand why he is being cruel, and how, in some ways, he is trying to save himself. Watson has the biggest heart, and that capacity to love tangles his desires and his “duties” as a respectable man in the Victorian Era.

Oh, sod it. I might as well just finish the fic and heal my heart with some brownies.

PS. I came up with the title days ago when i found out that the anniversary of The Hobbit is on Sept 21. And then i got side-tracked and this post got revamped.

sight

If I can be prevailed upon to rely on my own deductions, then I believe it is entirely possible that I have figured out the precise reason why I attack my obsessions with such fervent passion.

Well, now. That did not sound like me at all, did it? Hopefully not, because I was trying to be convoluted and all manner of Victorian … GAH! I can’t pretend anymore!

I was rereading “A Hymn to the Endlessly Falling” (click on this link if you want to lose sleep for a week) a moment ago and my startling revelation occurred when I reached the third page. Holmes and Watson had just relocated to Sussex and Holmes has found himself impossibly enchanted by bees. I’ve pasted word for word below the section that drew my attention:

Holmes loves the in the way he loves things he doesn’t understand entirely. It must be such a curse, understanding so very many things. It took me some time to learn that about him, to understand that part of why… is that I baffle him. I find myself to be very simple. My motives are enough to fathom, and i make it my habit never to take motiveless actions, so my own lack of capriciousness causes me to wonder at times why Holmes is looking at me the way he looks at fascinating murder scenes. But if I can puzzle him, then God bless him, he’s welcome to me, and welcome to bees…

The phrases I have bolded explain precisely when and why I gain and lose obsessions. It’s terribly arrogant and presumptuous of me to declare this, but when I think that I’ve learnt all there is to learn about something, someone, somewhat or other, I lose interest! I pay an insurmountable amount of attention to detail – so that prolongs the life of these obsessions a bit, but once I’ve been exposed to it all, I’m done. Next one up please!

I don’t know how happy I am about this. I am at the point where I know Cabin Pressure as well as any fan can possibly know. If I’m wise, I’ll let it rest until I forget all the details in all their fantastic comedic ways. It’d be a real tragedy if I were to get sick of it.

Belatedly, however, I should mention that I am in no way saying I’m any sort of detective investigative genius. Just putting that out there.