I’m crying. Actual tears on my pillow (read: plush IKEA knorrig) and a runny nose that just won’t quit.
I’d like to be a bad feminist and blame it on my period, but my period has been over for more than 24 hours (plus, feminism).
I’d like to be an ungrateful “actor” and blame it on musical theatre-induced decision fatigue, but I’ve been musical-free for more than 48 hours (plus, the show was totally worth it).
No, no, I have no one and nothing to blame but myself. These tears are 100% Rosie. 100% children being the embodiment of innocence and humanity’s only hope gets me every fucking time.
Damn you, Will Wheaton, and your baby-faced concern for an inter-dimensional being’s well-being. Damn you!
And to celebrate – in perpetuity – the anniversary of Mr. Wesley Crusher being made an Ensign aboard the starship Enterprise, here’s the first fucking sonnet of the series:
That space and time and thought are not
apart and individual
is fast made clear when living’s knot
does dance upon nonsensical.
There is no danger like the noose
of passion’s pride too soon let loose,
yet easily does all rope coil
when in the hands of child-like toil.
Go, follow curiosity
and just invite yourself along,
but do not fail to join the song;
for all the worlds you long to see
shall sing the chorus in their turn
and hope your gift you did not spurn.