I own nothing.

Monday

Today started out poorly—wardrobe crisis.

Not that I couldn't find something to wear—as I have described before, I lay out my clothes the night before, so as to make sure they are properly pressed, the socks match, etc.

Unfortunately, this morning I got rather careless as I was brushing my teeth, and a spot of toothpaste landed on my tie. The damage was irreparable except by complete wash cycle. Having no time for that, and no acceptable substitute that would coordinate with my chartreuse shirt, I was forced to change both my shirt and my tie and go with maroon instead.

As usual, I was the first to arrive at work—except for Jack, obviously. He was still in bed, so I popped down for a quick shag, then went to make coffee.

Owen showed up and, in typical Owen fashion (i.e., no tact whatsoever), wondered aloud why it always smelled like sex inside the Hub.

Jack, in typical Jack fashion (i.e., "Look at me! I'm so horny, I'll shag anything that moves!"), told Owen not to be shy—if he wanted in on the action, he just had to say so.

Really, Jack? Owen? Sure, he's got spunk, but as far as looks go…

He always reminded me of a frog. Or a newt. I would probably rather screw an actual frog.

…Scratch that.

Anyway, then Gwen showed up and, in typical Gwen fashion (i.e., completely obvious and incredibly annoying), started flirting like mad with jack. Oh, if that chubby hubby of hers could see the way she fawns over him…

Perhaps I'll send Rhys some CC-TV footage. That would certainly cause a stir.

Not that I'm jealous or anything (poor gap-toothed Gwen doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell with Jack, although she certainly is more than a match for Owen), I just get bored. Making coffee isn't exactly demanding on my time and energy. I mean, there's always Jack and his insatiable sexual appetite, but he's always busy saving the future and whatnot and I'm…the butler.

I'm pathetic, aren't I?

So then Tosh showed up and, in typical Tosh fashion (i.e., even more pathetic than I am), flirted uselessly with the oblivious Owen. I have no idea what she sees in him, but we've been over that already.

The morning was uneventful, for once. Jack was feeling frisky this afternoon, so he sent the rest of the team on a wild weevil chase so he and I could have another shag. We did the UNIT scenario again (God bless Martha Jones), after a slight debate over who got to be the officer. Jack wanted to do it (mostly because he wanted to wear the cap), but I pointed out that he is always in charge, so wouldn't even really be role playing.

Jack agreed, and conceded that I probably looked better in the cap anyway.

Question for further investigation: Are all immortals good in bed? My own experience would seem to indicate yes—then again, my own experience is slightly limited.

Anyway, the wild weevil chase turned out to be a real weevil chase. Tosh came back with a nasty gash on her arm—I can only imagine how much she drooled over Owen as he patched her up.

Obviously, I didn't stick around to watch.

Gwen stormed into Jacks office to give him her daily "You've forgotten what it means to be human" speech and scolded him for recklessly putting the team in danger. ("You treat us like we're all immortal! Well, news flash, Jack, we're not!" Instant classic.)

Jack did a remarkably good job of keeping a straight face as he admitted that she was right, which always seems to satisfy her.

Tonight: Reorganize closet.

To be determined: Is it more efficient to sort by color or by clothing type? Perhaps both? Further thought required.

Side note: Other team members expressing curiosity about my diary. (Especially Gwen, who probably is just dying to know what Jack is like in bed.)

Possible options for preventing snooping:

1.) Start writing in code and/or foreign language. Drawbacks include reliance on decoding tool (easily stolen) and/or memory.

2.) Come up with a more secure hiding place than inside my desk drawer. Although perhaps whoever is searching for it will naturally assume I've hidden it in a very clever place and won't even bother checking the obvious spot.

3.) Make a decoy diary that looks just like the real one, write bogus entries, and keep it in plain view.

Tomorrow: Make pro/con list (possibly Venn diagram) for Operation Secret Diary. Determine which option and/or combination of options is most viable.

Also, avoid Jack, who always seems to know when I'm up to something.

Mardi

Alors, j'ai décidé d'écrire en français. Je pense que les autres ne savlent pas de français, mais je ne suis pas sûr. Aussi, mon français n'est pas très bien. C'est difficile, mais nécessaire.

Ce matin, je me suis réveillé à 6h, comme d'habitude. Et puis, je—

Okay, so my French is a little rusty.

Actually, I'm surprised I even remember that much—the only time I studied it was for two weeks or so during Torchwood training.

So Operation Secret Diary is ongoing. Scratch option one off the list.

Today is turning out to be rather eventful, actually. A couple of Americans popped through the rift—apparently they originally came from the 1960s, so that's fun. From their perspective, the entire trip has been the best high ever.

Anyway, they were a couple of teenage girls, so naturally Gwen adopted them like stray puppies. Owen wouldn't even stay in the same room with them, saying something to the effect of having been down that road before, and not wanting to do it again. Tosh is working like mad to try to figure out how to send them back, and Jack did his best to hide his disappointment about the lack of a strapping male hippie companion. He succeeded pretty admirably, too, given the circumstances.

I, meanwhile, got to be in charge of the "Welcome to the 21st century!" shopping spree, which is always a treat.

And yes, that was sarcasm—I realize it doesn't always translate well in writing, but I can't help but use it (defense mechanism. I know.), so I'll try to warn you when I do.

Random trivia: Apparently, English is the only language in which sarcasm exists. Which, from a certain perspective, makes sense—why would you say one thing when you mean the exact opposite? On the other hand, without sarcasm the world would be so…literal…

Anyway, I'm going off on tangents now, so I'd better quit. Plus I hear some commotion out in the other room, so I'd better go see what's—

Sooo... yeah. If you review, you might get to find out what happens next...

Love,

C.