An Emocchachino Frappe With a Side of Eddie Optimism

If anyone ever needed more proof that Eddie Cahill is a sweet and spicy awesomebread man, look no further than his most recent interview with CSIFiles. He's always so sweet and charming, and I love a guy with lights on on the attic. Of special interest to me is the fact that he didn't want Flack to call Devon his "girlfriend" and actively resisted the term. Of course, the fact that he was willing to engage in a "fling" marginally detracts from his idealized saintliness in my eyes, but it's much more bearable than the thought that he considered such an empty-headed breathing cooze potential spouse material.

I'm very melancholy and disconnected at the moment. Comments to and from my LJ are down, and my fannish endeavors are either stillborn(the CSI:NY forum that never made it) or met with a collective meh. And if anyone is jabbing ferociously at the keyboard, pecking out the rusty platitude of, "I just don't read fic/participate in fandom anymore", save the effort. It might be true, but it's no cure for the bizarre sense of alienation that ails me. It's like screaming into a bell jar and sealing it before the words can escape. They leave the mouth and fingertips, only to fall where they emerge, tiny lead zeppelins too heavy to reach their destinations.

Everything feels heavier than it should right now, and harder, and I don't know why.

Maybe it'll be better tomorrow.