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say hello, wave goodbye
Nov. 26th, 2010 09:19 pmEvery other time I've been in the UK this year, I've known when I was coming back. That's been unusual, in that when I see new places, I never know when I'm going to return, which is hard, when you're as romantic as I am.
So the obvious, immanent returns in the UK have been a blessing. One less thing for me to be maudlin about, one fewer complicating factor in that my being in the UK has been complicated in a very particular way by story, in a way that other trips, like Italy, haven't been. Cardiff, in particular, is fucking complicated.
On Fridays, Patty has school. So I went down to the Bay by myself today and finally went to the Doctor Who exhibit after going to look at the thing, that's still awkward and horrible and sweet and unpleasant and my work.
But the point here is that when I got out of the Doctor Who exhibition, right as I crossed the street from the Red Dragon Center (bizarre mall of emptiness) to in front of the Millennium Center it started to snow.
Who the hell wrote that fic a while back about the team finding some weird artifact that projects an image of children playing in the snow in post-apocalyptic Cardiff? It's one of my favorites, and it was all I could think of. ETA: http://theohsocurlyone.livejournal.com/37311.html
Torchwood and my deal with it has sort of been a private thing for me lately, for all sorts of complicated reasons. My relationship with fiction is one of the things I'm most public about, feel the most obliged to be public about, and yet is also one of those things that exists so much in the private language of my head that I could never be as public about as I wish, even if I were in that frame of mind lately, which I'm decidedly not.
Anyway, no idea when I'll be back in the UK. Or Cardiff. Or, you know, anything. But while a bunch of you were at Chicago Tardis, I was standing in the snow on the Plass. What I love the most about this particular story about stories is how stitched up it's all been between then and here.
So the obvious, immanent returns in the UK have been a blessing. One less thing for me to be maudlin about, one fewer complicating factor in that my being in the UK has been complicated in a very particular way by story, in a way that other trips, like Italy, haven't been. Cardiff, in particular, is fucking complicated.
On Fridays, Patty has school. So I went down to the Bay by myself today and finally went to the Doctor Who exhibit after going to look at the thing, that's still awkward and horrible and sweet and unpleasant and my work.
But the point here is that when I got out of the Doctor Who exhibition, right as I crossed the street from the Red Dragon Center (bizarre mall of emptiness) to in front of the Millennium Center it started to snow.
Who the hell wrote that fic a while back about the team finding some weird artifact that projects an image of children playing in the snow in post-apocalyptic Cardiff? It's one of my favorites, and it was all I could think of. ETA: http://theohsocurlyone.livejournal.com/37311.html
Torchwood and my deal with it has sort of been a private thing for me lately, for all sorts of complicated reasons. My relationship with fiction is one of the things I'm most public about, feel the most obliged to be public about, and yet is also one of those things that exists so much in the private language of my head that I could never be as public about as I wish, even if I were in that frame of mind lately, which I'm decidedly not.
Anyway, no idea when I'll be back in the UK. Or Cardiff. Or, you know, anything. But while a bunch of you were at Chicago Tardis, I was standing in the snow on the Plass. What I love the most about this particular story about stories is how stitched up it's all been between then and here.
