When i wrote "I wonder what I will dream about tonight?" in previous post i couldn't even think about what i would dream about. I've never had such a sad dream.

No, Wallander, it wasn't about X-men, and that's strange, isn't it? I dreamed about Doctor.

First thing which i remember is i was sitting in my room with Doctor and he was telling me something very exciting. I remember that i felt like my head was being filled with lots of information, and i really liked this feeling. By the way, it was the ninth Doctor, he looked like Eccleston.
Unfortunately i don't remember what we were doing together. At first i decided, that we didn't do anything that Doctor usually does, but afterwards some details have surfaced in my memory. I remember me sitting in dark room and writing something and i remember us running somewhere. Also i remember that i wasn't the only one Doctor's companion. I remember that there were three children, i forgot  the youngest two, but i remember a little afro american girl, who made origami.

Why it was so sad? Because i saw Doctor dying. He told me that he was dying and he had to go. We both was crying, i couldn't imagine my life without him. I remember me thinking to ask him to take me with him, but i realized soon, that i'm not suitable for such life he lived. We just couldn't be together. I realized that he would forget me. And the saddest thing is when he was hugging me he asked me to remember and to write down everything we did together. I sweared. I sweared and now i can't remember anything.

The last thing i remember  he  trying to calm me down. He smiled through his ​​tears and said: "But the stars continue to be born!" (still don't know what he was talking about and how it could help me). I only had time to think: "Yes, but without you" and i opened my eyes. 

First few minutes i really hated real life.

Yeap. The X-Men: first class.
 Sooo, i didn't make any assumption about this film so i can't say if this film met my expectations or not. Buuuuut...

Dear God, it was gorgeous! Of course, what could i expect, it's Marvel   
Today was my first acquaintance with Michael Fassbender (Inglorious Bastards doesn't count). What can i say, i'm a fan! Join your club, Wallander. I always check if actor is suitable for a role by trying to replace him by another one. Well, i haven't find anyone. Anyone who can be so cold, strong and even cruel but at the same show involuntary that he is just a victim of the occasion, hopelessly devoid of any possibility to be happy ever. Anyone who can express it all in look in his eyes only. Yes, i remember Fiennes' look in his eyes in Onegin, but could you imagine him as a X-Men? :D
McAvoy...Young drunk professor-pacifist :D He's like cute kind daddy for all these noisy naughty assholes  students. Indeed, he made of kittens. Freeman, be careful, you have a serious rival :D

I suspect appearance of a huge amount of fanfics with pairing Charles Xavier/ Eric Lensherr. If you watched the film and didn't noticed anything beyond their friendship, you MUST be blind. Can'twait-can't wait-can'twait. Phooobs, please, don't disappoint us

In my opinion it doesn't make sense to write about any other character/actor. Can you guess why? Because noone can be better then one men, whose participation in the film took about 30 seconds. Judge for yourself, who can be better than really damn drunk Wolverine telling Charles and Eric politely to fuсk off without even looking at them. I'm in love :D

Guess, who is the main evil again? That-guy-with-submarine-with-gay-club-and-nuclear-reactor-inside? Eric? Nooooope. If americans shows Russia (especially Sovet Russia) in their films who can be the evil? Exactly, exactly. Have you seen a contrast of color spectrum between a views of England and Russia? Brrr, it looks like if the hell was on the Earth, it would be located in our the Great and Powerful Homeland.

Damn my English, i've been writing and translating it all for two hours T_T

I wonder what I will dream about tonight?

Despite the fact it is beautiful Мay evening, i can imagine the night when this poem has born. As far as i know, in 1910-s was a kind of turning point in life of Alexander Blok, the time of difficult decisions. In addition to this it was October...The only thing that can be worse than October is November. Cold, rainy and windy nights, everything that was blooming and living all summer is dying slowly and painfully. It's a dreadful time when hopes are dying, and a soul is becoming devastated.  

...Actually, it was just a short digression, a stream of feelings.  At first this post was supposed to be dedicated to one of my favorite modern composers - Sophie Solomon, or rather, her "The light that never dies ". That's obvious that this kind of song was inspired by the poem "Night, Street, Lamp, Pharmacy" written by Alexandr Blok.

Read by Ralph Fiennes:

Really, it was one of the best birthdays i've ever had. Don't know how to express my thankfulness to you, guys.

Thanks for long morning, for a little bit of red lipstick, for a funny old "lady", for a conversation about childhood, for amazing presents ( i wonder, how do you manage to guess my thoughts?), for happiness that fulfilled me all day, for tasty food, for good wheather, for holding expensive camera in my hands, for sitting in the end of the bus, for being thirsty for an hour and then drinking a bottle of milk, for being children, for shooting a water guns, for holding a raven in hands, for trying to kill mosquitoes with water guns, for being wet, for talking about Alyona's birthday, for chatting a lot, getting tired, for feeling when you sit down after long walk, for funny stubborn girl, for dreaming about sofa, for the book about Sherlock Holmes that is waiting for me tonight.

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Yes, it has finished finally. And i've understood not really pleasant fact.
I'm absolutely unable to work hard. I'm feeling terribly happy knowing that i don't have to bother about anything anymore. Don't know how i will feel when i'll have to become an adult. Actually, i don't want to know.

It's so delightful, just to write down lazy night thoughts and listening for carefree songs.

Nonchalance, btw, isn't so bad. At least, it protects me, so spineless and weak, it isolates me from all this stupid turmoil, others' opinions and boring daily stuff and give an excellent opportunity to look inside myself, to try to listen to my heart at last and to understand, what i really think about it all. Well, i have three months to do it.

To eat, to drink, to sleep, to read. I've heard somewhere such a definition of happy life in four words. The beginning of summer and Francoise Sagan are inclining me to carefree life without tomorrow. I haven't decided yet, should i be ashamed of such simple needs or not, but,  i believe, in any case, it is worse to lie myself by trying to convince myself that i like all that daily fuss... Probably, one day i'll like it all.

I'm going to finish reading "Il nomme dela rosa". I've already known, who is the muderer, so, Wallander, you can't blackmail me anymore. Finally i've found such an author, whose books i can re-read a thousand times in order to solve puzzles. I can't read book, which i understand cleary. No matter how i like the book, if there are no more puzzles and secrets in it, i won't read it  - reading for a second time can't be compared with the first time anyway. I wonder, if writers know, how many puzzlies there are in their books? Now i got strong desire to get acquainted better with the Bible and with history of medieval monasteries. Love the books which make me want to read more.

Thanks for this spring. 
Thanks for young leaves and blooming apple-trees, for late sunsets and long walks, drawn-out games, the realization that i'm still a child, for huge amount of british actors, for slight spleen, for bothering questions, for chocolate cake, for drawn-out birthday (i've never got so much presents), for Fransuaza Sagan, for ability to immerse in a book and forget about everything, for music that's suits my mood, for chattin' with my classmates, for good exam results, for little John Watson (during the walk we saw a little child dressed in a kind of little military coat and he was carring toy cane), for harmonica, for new book by Umberto Eco, for the end of school year.

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For cheap ice cream, for strong emotions, for the sunrise, for spending time with friend, for being offended, for green eyes, for the way insult influences on me, for strong desire to immerse in a science, for puzzling night's dreams, for looking for empty swing, for taking photos of children, for honest little girl, for the smell of blooming trees, for George Orwell, for the way Google translator translate (damn tautology -__-) my post.

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Let it be new weekly column -The midnight music.

As far as i know, Gary Jules is american singer-songwrither, not really popular (especially in Russia), and it adds him value in my eyes actually.
I fell in love with his amazing voice, soft and genlte, and with simple but very meaningful lyrics. His songs seem to me to be tender sad tales that are perfectly suitable for such a rainy night as today.

Mad world

Beautiful

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I really need to get prepared for my tomorrow exam, but i have strong desire to write something and i just can't help it.
I've read somewhere an interesting statement about blogging. Can't remember it fully but it was smth like that: 'The blogging has given us a the world fulled with people who have a lot of mostly nothing to say and strong desire to say it'. That's all about me.

I always wonder how people manage to divide relationships into groups like lovers, friends, mates and so on. it seems to be so difficult to me, almost impossible. How to distinguish true friend from amount of other friends? Okay, in some situations it can be easy. But how to feel the moment when the love begins and ends? The moment when you get more rights to enter more deeply into the personal space of the person? The moment when you can open your heart fearlessly? How to notice that person has drifted away from you? It can be so imperceptible. Are there any borders between these kinds of relationships at least?

I guess, these questions can't be answered. People must learn it during the communiction with others, but...why didn't i learn it then?

...Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thank You for Sherlock Holmes, despite the fact i know that you wouldn't like to be remembered as the author of Sherlock Holmes only.

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Definitely, films that was watched about at night can have big influence on night's dreams. I had a bit vulgar night's dream. Oh, Wallander, nothing connected with Christoph's kind actually (you know, guys, what i mean if you know who is Christoph and his kind), but...vulgar . And i'm sure you can name two persons who took part in my dream. 

It was quite good birthday despite the fact i haven't celebrated it yet. I got amazing presents including excellent marks on algebra and geometry, cute birthday card with picture of Sherlock and John + moving post dedicated to me and absolutely unexpected "Happy birthday" melody played by my classmate on his own guitar. And i know that smth interesting is waiting for me in school. If there is someone of you guys who is reading this post ( Wallander, i know you are here :D), know then, you're gorgerous. Thank you.

It was terrific Saturday with a cake, tea and british actors (i wish they hadn't been just on the internet but on our tea party) and of course with water gun fighting, pretending to be asleep and trying to snore, tea again, watching Lion King (for the first time, btw) and Christoph and his kind. Exciting.

Suddenly understood that i won't write in Russian anymore. Even when all [three english] exams end.

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P.S. F**k you, Phobs, i'm sure i'll have vulgar dream again because of your amazing fanarts.

Well, yes. I'm seventeen. Since that moment i have to answer the question about my age with a phase "I'm seventeen". Not sixteen, but seventeen.

I spent last minute of my seventeenth year watching on second hand on my clock and whispering to myself "Sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-SIXTEEN" till the second hand made the last movement in previous day. Since this moment my eighteenth year has begun. Good luck to me.

Can't say that i learnt a lot during my seventeenth year. I still don't know what to do with my life. Then more older i become, then more childish i become. Well, maybe it isn't so bad.

I figured out a lot about friendship. Now i understood, who are my good and true friends. 

I had become more confident and tolerant. And that's feeling good.

But i'm still a bit afraid of being adult.

Happy birthday to me.

"That I’m the monster that parents tell their children about at night? You know it all makes sense now why you favored Thor all these years. Because no matter how much you claimed to love me, you couldn’t have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!" -Tom Hiddleston as Loki

Thank you.
Thank you for my close people, for powers for the fight, for night dreams, for the awakening after a nightmare, for grated carrots with sugar, for terrific pasta cooked by my friend, for day spend together, for english speaking actors, for difference between australian and british accents, for peaceful evenings outdoor, for drinking milk during the walk, for inspiration, for unknown british young musical groups, evening conversations with mum, for things i can do well, amazing full moon, for black eyes, for everyone who understands me, for an apple juice, for awakening at six a.m. without an alarmclock, for summer dress with cherry pattern, for short haircut, for counting days before an important meeting, for plans for this summer (including thoughts about water guns and walking without shoes), for mum's plaid, for good Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, for the great hope. Whatever will happen tomorrow, thank you.

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That damn YRC has finished. I'm terribly happy but dog-tired at the same time. I'm feeling like sleeping like a rock tonight.

As i promised, Wallander, Mycroft's pajama. Enjoy:

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I guess, first one belongs to Sherlock, funny polkadot shorts to Watson and third is Moriarty's one :)

        According to the fact that i felt a bit offended, when i read a note in Wallander's post about Benedict Cumberbatch, i'm on the last stage of fangirlism too.

        Dear God, stop me please dancing stupidly around the room. Scissor Sisters and their "I don't feel like dancing" is still stuck in my head.

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          It was a very eventual day, i should say. Though, i can't say that i'm very tired, but i feel that i will sleep well today. 
          Thank you a lot, JW. Sometimes i think 'bout my life without you being near to me and i realize that it would be too empty and joyless. Thank you for your existence :)

          I still can't write in English quickly. I have to check every damn word.

          Me and my mom had a quiet peaceful evening. Such evenings have been too rare lately, i should say, but i can't help it, exams are coming, i don't have enough time to spend it with my mom. We had an interesting conversation 'bout the world of cinema, more precisely, 'bout Russian and British actors. The reason we started talking 'bout that is a strange opinion of some russians 'about the russian cinema.  When someone complains that cinema in USSR was much more better than cinema nowadays, they reply that it's just a nostalgy and their complait has no reason. 
         First of all, i'm 16. There can't be any nostalgy, you see. 
         We honestly tried to remember at least one good modern Russian comic actor and figured out, that we can't. Can't remember ANY, while we easily can name at least 7-8 comic Sovet actors, which are still popular. I don't know ANY good modern Russian actress. I hate nauseous Russian TV series.  I can't stand with dull and full of falseness Russian TV shows. Yes, every year about 8-10 films are produced. But talking about sucsess of Russian film industry at least foolishly.
         Thanks God, we have Britain.

I decided to continue the Wallander's post 'bout a veryveryveryveryvery special person. Damn hot person.

Benedict Cumberbatch

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Aaaaaaand... *drum roll*....A finger porn! Guess, whose fingers ;)

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