Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.

Day 006

Well, the newest candidate in my quest for a word for total screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy is "TARDIS Repair Worker." Or at least, that is what I'll be calling myself now, in terms of my official job title. Not really sure it is sexy at all, but I do know that to work here one does have to be at least a bit of a total screaming genius…

That certainly doesn't sound modest considering I am talking about myself. But based on the training and test scores I needed to get in here it is certainly the truth. And I am the youngest person to ever do it, so maybe I have a right not to be modest about being clever at this point.

In reality though, so far nobody has actually let me do anything other than tinker with a few consoles. Guess they might take some time to warm up to the new girl in town. Maybe they don't think there is any possible way that someone can have the capacity to work on this stuff at my age.

To that I say that they ought to come and meet the girl who can.

Day 026

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a great idea to tell the Master Mechanic that "I'm the boss." But in all fairness, he was trying to tell me how to do my job; we're all Kings of our own Castles right? And… Well… He was wrong.

Sadly, him being wrong doesn't really improve my lot much, since right after he made a scene and had the whole work crew gawking at us, the Chameleon Circuit he so expertly demonstrated the proper method of realignment on sputtered and showered his face in sparks. It kind of burned off his eyebrows and goatee… And he can't say that it was the new girl's fault. That was all on him, and everyone around him knew it. So while he cannot technically discipline me, that doesn't mean he is not bent on avenging his lost facial hair, despite it being not my fault.

As my unofficial punishment, I've been assigned to Sector 74.5, also known as 'the Vault.' It earned that name because it is where all of the really old junk gets sent. The machinery down there is simply archaic; it is more of a museum than a repair shop. I don't even understand why we are keeping it all really; they've all had their day, best now just to salvage the parts.

Day 028

I didn't actually get to start my period of penance as designated by the Master Mechanic today. The Chief Engineer of Sector 74.5 spent most of the day trying to discern whether my transfer papers were in order. Because you know, someone with the capacity to falsify these kinds of documents would definitely want to get in here.

Later in the afternoon I was just told to leave for now. It would seem they are not used to new faces down here, no one seemed happy to have anyone else around and no one knew what to get me to work on. Certainly nobody volunteered to add me to their work crew. Mostly solitary folk it would seem and getting on in years. Maybe that is why they are here; these things were near to the top of the line when the people working on them were too.

In the evening while I was visiting Dad, I got a message telling me that the next day I was to report to Bay 11, and that I would be assigned to a total overhaul on a Type 40 TARDIS. All by myself. So much for hoping that the Master Mechanic's anger would taper out quickly and I wouldn't be stuck in the past too long…

Day 072

This machine doesn't like me. In fact I would go as far as to say that this machine has it out for me. The first time I tried to get into it, the key wouldn't work. I stood there trying it for a good 57 minutes feeling like an absolute idiot until I finally got in. And when I say got in its more like when it let me in. Then I actually managed to get lost. It is a bloody cow, honestly, why would you try and fluster someone who is trying to help you? It would be like biting your doctor, nobody wins there.

I have no idea who managed to rough it up this bad, but the Type 40 essentially needs to be rebuilt. And I do like a challenge, but beyond the technical skills needed, as I said I appear to be locked in mortal combat with my subject.

Yesterday when I went to remove a part of the console, my hands got burned, prompting me to let out a string of curses that even the Corsair would be proud of… There was no way that metal should have been hot, the thing wasn't even fully integrated to the power source, I haven't gotten that far yet. I've spent the first few weeks trying to fix the Chameleon Circuit in it. I think that I've got it working proper like, but it also seems to be a rather iffy still and I don't know if you actually took it out how long it would last.

Day 189

Well, it would seem that I can't really call the Type 40 'it' anymore, because she is definitely a 'her.' I'm not sure when this epiphany struck me, but I am very glad it did, because I am pretty sure that it stopped something else from striking me, specifically it stopped a very heavy metal beam from striking my head.

While trying to run a wire back to its source, I rather suddenly found myself on the ground after falling over something I couldn't see. While trying to collect my dignity and stand up, I was showered with nuts and bolts and looked up to see a metal beam falling from the ceiling.

I yelled out "Now she is really trying to kill me!" And the falling beam seemingly veered off a little to the left, and although feeling very scared, I was totally unscathed and even managed to find my way back to the door faster than usual. Maybe I am on to something here…