I'm too susceptible to vague challenges

slodwick set a challenge whereby you got a random picture and wrote 1000 words, and this was mine, and the words are ( yon )

i hate my brain

and the feeling is entirely mutual, as evidenced by the fact that, having spent the entire night reading Cupid fic - and yes, I have actually seen the show, Channel 5 showed it for a few weeks over the summer... two years ago? sitcom about a man who thinks he's Cupid and has to match up a hundred couples, and his therapist is of course a beautiful woman who believes in compatibility as opposed to outdated notions of true love and soulmates and they have UST, of course, and it was quite fun and funny and yet had all these little touches of angst that just... ahem. anyway, I did some other stuff, read a little Highlander, then I was sitting playing a stupid little game (click, boom, click, boom, click, boom) and I just got this picture, this sense of a scene complete.

Claire, the beautiful sceptical therapist, attempting to treat a man with delusions of immortality - who would, of course, be Methos. Because the sheer amount of snark that such a meeting could produce... my god... And then you have the interactions between Cupid and Methos - imagine, Methos talking to someone who is actually older than he is, though he... oh, Methos would believe Cupid but Duncan wouldn't and then you have Duncan/Methos and... aagh, and Claire telling Duncan how important it is that he doesn't support the delusion of immortality because that would impede the healing process and the rolling of eyes behind her back and Trevor (Cupid) just sitting down with the guys and going, "yeah, I know, just humour her then get out of town but could you do me a favour and get together already because I know sexual tension when I see it" cue more rolling of eyes and...

I. Hate. My. Brain.

I Will Not Write This.

I will under no circumstances write a crossover between a sitcom that lasted for one series and which I saw years ago and a fantasy-drama which I have never actually seen. I will not.

Please?

(no subject)

I bashed out a couple of short scenes and a very brief plot outline. And a little bit about a subplot. So I don't have to write it now. And I couldn't anyway. Because while I utterly adore snark I just can't do it consistently enough and I can't sustain witty banter by myself and it's a shortcoming in myself that I abhor but it stops me doing silly things like staying up all night writing scenes that I want to see. Because I know I can't so I don't even try, and... aargh. Going to save the file, close the file, shut off the computer and go to bed. Really. Am. Am. Really.

Right.