My mental state at the moment is pretty much 'OMG the Unit OMG Scott Foley OMG flail'. I am on a Quest for the second season on DVD at a reasonable price; I think I'm down to TradeMe, because across ten shops (five chains in total) I have found exactly two copies of season two, both at the insane price of $74. There is not a TV series in the world I would pay that for. (I got season one for $25 at one branch of JB Hi-Fi; it was $54 at another. Dude. That's a big price difference.)

My life. So hard.

But oh, show. Oh, boys. My slash goggles - weak at the best of times - are in overdrive on this show, between Mack and Bob and Hector and Charlie, and I squeed when Mack called Bob 'puppy' in 'Exposure', which I think means fandom has corrupted my brain. And 'SERE' - any episode that involves the boys stripped down to their underwear and cuddling Bob is going to make me blissfully happy. Total fan service, yes?

Two weeks ago I was geeking out over the 4400 and scribbling away at some Tom/Diana fic, and now, beyond occasionally listening to the theme tune on YouTube, my brain is all 'what is this 4400 of which you speak?'

And here's the thing. Soon enough I'll be wildly passionate about yet another show, combing the internet for spoilers, hunting down DVDs at bargain prices, writing fic I'll never finish, and every couple of months I'll get homesick for the boys and watch an ep or two. Oh, brain. I wear myself out.

Last night, when I was falling asleep, I planned out the awesomest Five Things fic in my head. I even had the first two Things all written.

Only now I can't remember what the Five Things were. I can't even remember which character it was - I suspect either Sam or Racetrack.

Oh, brain. It's going to bug me and bug me and bug me, and I will never know.