Doctor Two? Patrick Matt Troughton Smith

So a few more "lost" Doctor Who segments have turned up, one from the first Doc, and one from the second. I haven't seen much of the second Doc, partially because so much of it has been lost, and partially because I just haven't hunted it down. I saw him in The Five Doctors, of course, and various random clips (and of course Patrick Troughton was a great one for appearing in oddball stuff like Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger), but my primary impression of the second Doc was always one of crankiness.

So I was intrigued by this "new" clip...

...and the whole time I watched it, I kept thinking of Doctor eleven, i.e, Matt Smith, the current incarnation. Bow tie, propensity towards hats ... all we need to do now is get Matt a clarinet and the Doc is practically reliving a previous incarnation! :)

It also occurs to me that kinda fits. The second Doc was forced to regenerate by the Time Lords, he didn't actually want to do it. So maybe he felt like he "wasn't done" with this version of himself and wanted to revisit it?

-The Gneech

Go the F**k to Sleep, Gneech

I've talked before about the link between depression and sleep. I can always tell when I haven't had enough sleep because stupid things cause me to moodcrash. Things that should only slightly vex me or better yet not bother me at all, instead become these huge, towering, soul-crushing things.

I also get very squirrely and plagued with all sorts of self-doubt, convinced that my very presence annoys or irritates people whose opinion I really care about, despite their often clear and explicit stating of the contrary. I get lonely, I obsess, I get needy, which in turn makes me get jealous, and then I repress all of that to avoid dumping my problems on other people, which just leads me into a tailspin down a rabbit-hole of self-loathing and unhappiness.

Thing of it is, none of it is real. It's all just the stupid chemicals floating around in my brain, firing off the "suck" receptors and blocking the "awesome" receptors. My rational mind knows this, having learned the hard way from a lifetime of coping with it. But it still feels real while it's happening.

So, yeah ... the best way to treat it? Go the f**k to sleep. That's also in many ways the hardest thing for me to do. I have a finite number of days, and I really hate surrendering them at the end. But if I don't, it'll just be that much worse tomorrow.

So why am posting this? Partially to avoid going to bed. But also as a reminder to other lifetime depressives out there who might be reading this and nodding as they go: it's not you. It's not real. It's bad mojo in your head. You can fix it. Just go the f**k to sleep. The morning will be better.

-The Gneech