I've been thinking about movies. I've made lists even. For no particular reason.
I peeve because I love.
I'm the kind of person who sees a rant about fan-fiction pet-peeves and immediately takes stock to determine whether I'm an offender. If it's something I've done recently, I'll of course wonder if they meant me. Sometimes I also get inhibited, either because I want to commit the peeve, or I think they're right, but now it's something I have to *think about* and avoid when I'm writing.
Even so--even at the risk of miffing or inhibiting others--I've been, for a while now, mentally compiling a list of Tired SGA Things. I don't think these things need to be retired; they just need a nap. I have some suggested alternatives.
- Rodney snarking on or obsessing over John's freakish hair
- John musing lovingly on Rodney's heart-shaped ass; Rodney contemplating John's skinny one
- John's oh so incredibly bony BONY MY GOD BONY body poking Rodney in bed
- Rodney saying, "What are you, twelve?"
- Any mention of the following: ferris wheels, surfing, prime/not-prime, Mensa, the horselike affection of puddlejumpers for John, or Atlantis's mad crush on him
- Any plotline based on Rodney's citrus allergy or hypoglycemia
- Rodney grows a beard and John relentlessly tries to figure out why, rejecting Rodney's claim that it's manly and becoming; John snarks on Rodney's hairline and Rodney counters with questionable evidence of virility and hair loss; one day Rodney confesses that he actually likes John's hair, and John never lets him live it down; or after confessing it, Rodney pets him, and then can't stop touching and poking at it, in public, and even though they're not actually together yet--in response, John gives him increasingly dismayed and incredulous looks and sometimes flinches away, because Rodney, dude, wtf?
- John tells Rodney he has a heart-shaped ass but it's clearly a dig; since they're not sleeping together, Rodney is insulted and says that he'd catalog John's plentiful physical flaws, but he's above that and it's a waste of his precious time, and that he's had many compliments on his ass from discerning women who've had far better opportunity to study it than John. But for the next week Rodney quizzes everyone he comes across in Atlantis about their opinion on his ass. Ronon starts avoiding him.
- Rodney tells John he's soft--possibly just an affectionate compliment, but with Rodney it could mean anything. John secretly obsesses over the remark, pinching himself in the mirror critically every morning, and begins hitting the gym twice as hard, siphoning time away from their recreational activities. He passive-aggressively baits Rodney in a wounded way, but it's ages before Rodney even notices. In an unforgettable incident, John gets falling-down drunk while on a mission and strips off his clothes during the Feast of Goats and yells "I'm not soft!" The village crones nod approvingly.
- One day Rodney asks John scathingly, "What are you, twelve?" while holding an Ancient device, and John turns into a twelve-year-old boy. They're never able to turn him back. Rodney calls him "Colonel Doogie" and the women of Atlantis come over all maternal, and then a rash of pedophilia fic burns through fandom, causing flamewars and schisms and a level of wank so terrible that it eclipses all Harry Potter wank ever.
- We discover that John also has a thing for river boats and volleyball, and can recite dirty limericks until the end of time. Though he didn't join Mensa, he did have a brief, ill-fated fling with the Campus Crusade for Christ because of a mad crush on a pretty born-again girl. Meanwhile, Atlantis develops a mad crush on Rodney, which makes John sulk until he learns that Rodney is actually responsible, having created a program to simulate the city's love.
- Radek has a terrible peanut allergy that we've never heard about, because he didn't want people to accuse him of pulling a Rodney. He accidentally eats a peanut and nearly dies. His near-death experience puts a damper on Rodney's whining for months, to the point where Rodney contemplates eating a lemon to regain his angsty high ground.
I talk about myself.
I saw Psych Guy on Thursday to discuss meds. While we were talking about my current mood and operational exhaustion, he noted that the change in me since my last visit was "striking." Not in the good way, obviously. He prescribed a new med, Lexapro, something I've tried before, but this will be part of a new combo.
New med brought nausea Friday, a side-effect he'd warned of; I went home sick. It seems to be tapering off though. I was exhausted all weekend; probably unrelated. I got little done. I have a to-do list of 39 items, of which I think I've crossed off three. I'm making some inroads though. Therapist's appointment today. I don't want to go for some reason. But I only see her every two weeks and I cancelled the time before last. So.
The Lexapro won't start to show any effects for 2-6 weeks; he said 3 weeks is about average.
Meanwhile, my flatscreen monitor is starting to die. If I leave it in sleep mode for too long it won't go back on. I'm trying to nurse it by turning it off when I know I'll be in the other room for a while.
And now I'm going to sneak in a mention that I finished watching SGA eps up through "The Lost Boys" and was unenthused by all of it. If I start in on specifics, I'll probably end up barking and snarking at length, and chip away at people's shiny happy love, which I hate to do. Because even when you label a critical post, happy people click through to read more despite themselves and end up walking away gloomy. I know I've done that, at least. Plus, the act itself of slapping a warning label on a post makes your displeasure known and can give people mild flulike infections of sadness. Because they want you to be happy! They want love to be universal, and though we all know that such good intentions lead to Jasmine, I hate to contribute to a miasma of meh. And since, my god, I need to be working now, that's what I'm leaving to do.