David McDonald Tennant's Journal [entries|friends|calendar] David McDonald Tennant recent information friends memories LINK Layout [ userinfo | insanejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | insanejournal calendar ]

[Sunday June 29, 2008 10:12pm] I cried for the first time in a while tonight, animal, raw crying. I tried to stop it, to ignore it. For a while I just let myself feel like I was going to be sick. But it came, of course it came. My love, my life, gone...and only me to blame. Of course it's me to blame. It should be me to blame. God, what a bastard. What a complete and utter shit-eating, selfish bastard. How could I take that for granted? How could I get that comfortable? Why would I make the choices I do? It's not rational. It's fucking stupid and I'm scared to death she'll find someone else but at the same time all I want is for her to be happy. I was begging at the end, sniffling. It was pitiful but what's the point if not her? Let me look the idiot, the fool, the weak one. It would be worth it for another second as her's. And why can't I tell her any of this? Why does it only come out when she's leaving, or when something goes wrong so that it ends up looking like just a ploy. It isn't. It never has been. Why don't I send her flowers every day, write her love notes, cook her breakfast, hold her hand? Why would I pick sleep over the sun? And God, why did I do this to her in the first place? The most heartbreaking thing of all is the knowledge that she had to feel this at one point to. That I MADE her feel like this, that it was me ripping her heart out. How could I have done that to another human being? And how could I have messed this up so badly? And what if it's best? What if she really is better without me? Shouldn't I just let her go? Oh, Christ. I should. She's the only thing beautiful in this life, why would I want to stiffle that dead? I wanted answers, I only found more questions, more reasons to blame me, more reasons not to bother with the next breath, because without her...everything loses its oxygen. 5 @#?%!

Poetry [Monday June 23, 2008 2:53am] [ mood | calm ] [ music | Baba O'Riley, The Who ] Everyone has such beautiful words that I've never been able to snatch out of thin air and conjure out of my fingertips. I've never been a poet, never had the talent. For the first half of my life, I simply didn't get it, and then when I did, it felt like a farce, a joke. Too easy, and too hard, and far too random. It felt too much like trying to hit a nail on the head blind and eventually the leather bound books got shoved into cardbord boxes and shoved back into the crawl spaces and cupboards of various homes. They've moved with me, along with other childhood memorabilia that Dad hasn't the space for and I haven't the heart to throw out. An old bear, illustrated books. A few bits and pieces of toys, playing cards, starwars action figures, an uninflated rugby ball, school assignments in unlegible 8 year-old-me handwriting, all of it smelling of Scotland in the 70s. My Doctor Who action figures sit on my bookshelves now, the only reminent put on display. Anything else would feel like a sacrelige, my niavity for the world to see. My secret world, my hidden garden a few blocks away and the rocks that remain from a day of exploring, gems then but simply stones now, resting in the bottom of that box. And that damn journal, sitting there, so hopeful, raging with post-teenage angst, bleeding to be heard but never quite speaking up past a whisper, it's secrets of awkward love and odes to making love for the first time, to a woman's flesh, to snowfall, to shadows, lost. Lost now, lost forever. I may as well burn it and save the ashes for a cool autumn day when I need the heat, but instead it will sit on the bottom of a box, screaming in silence, poetry undone. 4 @#?%!

[Monday June 02, 2008 10:28am] [ mood | tired ] [ music | Golden Touch by Razorlight ] I'm bacccckkkk!!! Who missed me?! No. Really. Who missed me? :-(. With that said, I'm back from L.A. and a week of...Well, it should have been sun, surf, and sex. Instead, it was more like me getting burnt the first day and then lounging around in Soph's air-conditioned apartment for the rest of the time. I even made dinner for us one day...A whole week of being a good boy, and I've nothing to show. NOTHING! Which...considering, isn't bad. It took months to "get in her pants" last time and we were all the better for it. I think we're all the better for it now. There's nothing but time to heal some wounds, and it's best that those wounds get completely healed before we get completely back to where we were. God, sometimes it frightens me, though. I can't help but to wonder if I'm making the right choice. Not because I don't love Sophia. I do, and I know I do and I always will. Or maybe it is because of that fact, because I DO love her. I'm terrified of messing up, of hurting her again. Everything's all fine and dandy now but what about in a few months when Hamlet's going full swing and she's shooting something and we can't fly half way across the world to meet each other for the weekend. What then, when we're back to going months at a time without seeing each other? Am I strong enough for that sort of thing? I'd kick myself if I didn't give it my best try, though. These past two weeks have been the best two weeks I've had in a long time, and they aren't something I'll be willing to give up quite so easily, especially since I know what I'm fighting for this time 'round. On that note...Jetlag can suck my...well, you know. 2 @#?%!

Private from s_myles [Thursday May 15, 2008 2:25am] [ mood | drunk ] [ music | Cold Water by Damien Rice ] Double update, I know. It's horrible. But...Sophia's around, and I haven't the slightest how to feel. 1 @#?%!

002. [Wednesday May 14, 2008 4:46pm] [ mood | content ] [ music | You Can Have It All by The Kaiser Cheifs ] The smell of vanilla infused on my rubbish bags take me back to childhood and the fake plastic cupcakes that my sister forced upon me during fake tea parties that were laced with that same fake scent. It's too cold here to have the windows open, and yet I do. My flat smells absolutely feral, too many months of neglect built up. I haven't done laundry in weeks, haven't found the energy. It's a horrible habit, letting it all build up until I'm down to my last pair of knickers. Wearing the same jeans three or four or half a dozen times until I can't put off the inevitable any longer. You'd think when you "make it" it would come with a house keeper and a person to do your clothing for you, and to cook your meals. Maybe if you're Robert DiNero but I'm stuck doing my own hoovering, sitting in a freezing cold flat while I wait for the smell of London to replace the smell of David. Maybe it's a sign I haven't made it. It was so odd, those first few months. Surreal, how suddenly I could bearly go out without being recognised. And then all you've got to do is step out of your own little sphere. Go to France, go to Germany, go to the States. Nothing. I'm still a nobody in the scheme of things. Even as The Doctor, it isn't as if I'm what's big. It's the show, it's the classicality of it all. Christ, there's been 9 others before me, 9 other FANTASTIC, talented people. And there'll be more after me as well. I'm just a blip on the radar, a temporary change of senery. I wouldn't trade it for the world, not at all, but that doesn't change the reality of it, that I'm hoovering my own flat (the same one I've had since I've started), that I don't drive some flash sportscar. I fly commercial class when I actually DO get to fly (I'd rather drive, honestly, but that's another story, innit?). The only place I've "made it" is in my own mind, and evne that doesn't count, does it? Nah, I've never wanted anything but this, the ability to do what I love, to have roles that I adore. But sometimes I can't help but think... It's way too damn cold for this. 12 @#?%!

[Tuesday May 13, 2008 7:40pm] ( comment to be added ) @#?%!

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ]