I made the decision that my blog's title "Things That Sort of Suck" made me sound like quite the petulant child. While it was intended to be a snarky but well-intended amusing list of things that --well -- sort of sucked -- it never really evolved into that. The name became moot. Unless I change the entire url, I am stuck with the name to some extent. I am fine with that, though. Now those things that sort of suck can solely be my musings and the poor way they are crafted or perceived.
As for the new Title --if you're not a fellow Dr. Whovian, I suppose it makes no sense at all. For so many of us that are, however, it speaks volumes. Number Ten (played oh-so-well by David Tennant) was perhaps the moodiest, most morose and most glum of all the Doctors. This is not to say he didn't have his moments of levity. Nor does it imply that he wasn't filled with an adventurous spirit and moments of pure joy, especially when he could share those things with his companions. But when Number Ten was dark, he was very, very dark. Is there anything so heart-breaking as his long farewell prior to regeneration into Number Eleven? He visits all those people that made up his adventures, that touched his soul. He knew he would go on, at least in part, within Number Eleven, but he also knew that the bulk of who he was would be dominated by the shiny and new. The Doctor that mourned his own loss couldn't fathom that soon he'd be dining upon fish fingers and custard. He was as human as the Doctors were ever allowed to be. He broke the rules and loved Rose from afar; kept a firm distance from Martha knowing that she'd do anything for a spot of his real attention, and then chose the most obnoxious woman in all of Great Britain to join him for sailing round all of time and space, presumably so that he would feel nothing but agitation and contempt. (Yes, this is conjecture on my behalf, but I really, really, really hated Donna.)
I don't like to think of myself as a sad sack, mopey Eeyore. Looking at a lot of my posts here, though, I'm confronted by the fact that I really am. I do put forth a real effort to share happy thoughts about things as well as pensive, dark feelings. ( I think that when I'm happy, I'm outgoing. It's when I'm filled with sadness, or feeling contemplative about the negative that I turn to the laptop and the blog. Really, I ought to buy a journal and stick to that. The world doesn't need to know all my rueful thoughts. But don't we all have them? Aren't they really a part of all of us? Because I am able to throw them out and work them out accordingly, I'm giving mine up. I'm not waving them like a banner and screaming "LOOK AT ME; I NEED ATTENTION BUT I WON'T TELL YOU WHY." )
So, I have decided that I, and others like myself, are really the perfect companions of Dr. Number Ten. We may not break one another out of lonesome, dismal moments. But neither would be be full of annoying false cheer that never really works. We could go and visit the planets where it always rains and be content. We could find a place inside the Tardis (which is much, much larger on the inside) where King sized beds covered in pillows provided solace for a few hours from demons who needed slaying. Consider a platonic, secure nap with Doctor Ten. It sounds rather nice, doesn't it? Ultimately, we would visit those places where other species endure much more difficult real-life issues, and the gloom of our lives would dissipate as action to rescue was employed. All good actions in their own good time.
I am very much a fan of Number Eleven who is filled with confidence and almost prances about to meet his next adventure. Tto be fair, I also loved Number Nine whose vigilance at protection of the universe was stalwart. But Number Ten's righteousness, his outlook on the world tinged with sadness at its realities and just a hint of foreboding fatalism, speaks to me like none of the others could possibly do.
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