Tolstoy and Rory.

I went running this morning. I slipped on some Nikes and took off down the road. I confess, it was hard. It was hard because I have a summer cold and can't breathe out my nose. It was hard because I am determined to make food for La's bridal shower and I'm not really sure how I'm going to do that but I have a tendency to plan the menu out non-stop in my head anyway. It was hard because Rory died in Doctor Who last night but that can't be possible because the Doctor saves everyone.
Doesn't he?

I have been making stuffed toys and searching for my copy of Anna Karenina. Little striped rabbits with ears filled with beans and fornicators. Amazing pairing.

Did I mention yet that I am twenty-one now? C'est vrai, je suis.

I'm going to go make more rabbits now, because even though they are not very important and only minor characters, I need to refrain from writing mean letters to one of my favorite film and television companies. Small, striped bunnies suffer me not to do things I will regret.
I need to figure out why the Doctor didn't save Rory.
And find my Tolstoy.