#personal cumberbauchery

[whenshiphitsthefan]

I JUST REMEMBERED THAT LAST NIGHT I HAD A DREAM THAT I MET BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH AND HIS BABY.

I WAS SUCH A HUGE FAN OF HIM FOR LIKE 2 YEARS BUT CAN’T REMEMBER HAVING EVEN ONE DREAM ABOUT HIM.

THAT WAS SUCH AN AWESOME DREAM THOUGH.

[whenshiphitsthefan]

. 

[whenshiphitsthefan]

I think I want to stay on Tumblr for the next few years just to be there when the news finally breaks that Benedict Cumberbatch's significant other (whoever that ends up being) is pregnant with their first child.

I shudder to imagine how often Tumblr's servers will be down during that first 12 hours.　

[whenshiphitsthefan]

One last post before bed, a post no one except people who knew me reasonably well back in May 2010 will understand at all:

Benedict Cumberbatch is clearly a leprechaun from my story. Or at least half-leprechaun.

He's tall and has magical eyes. And isn't aging very fast　.

It all makes sense now.

[whenshiphitsthefan]

I know I post things about Benedict being sexy and everything, but if it meant I could live with the knowledge that my dad is awesome, whether or not I got to communicate with him, I would stop thinking that way about him and find some other celebrity to fangirl over.

It's just because I know my dad has done really bad things, and even worse is that he may have done bad things to me, too. I've gone months without communicating with him. He barely exists to me. He probably thinks of me sometimes, but I know he won't make much of an effort to talk to me.

If I could redefine that person as a stranger, and if "Dad" were a label put on someone I liked, I'd probably be happier.

At the moment, I'd want Benedict Cumberbatch to be my dad because he's awesome in many ways, and, when I was younger, my eyes were of an indeterminable hue. No one could tell if they were green or blue. (But it's agreed now that they're green.)

Maybe in a couple years I'll meet/discover someone else who would be a more appropriate father, but for now, I'll just want to be able to pretend that somehow my dad is actually a popular, attractive, intelligent, humble, talented British actor with a fascinating name and a fangirl army.

I can't really ever get into fantasies like that. I can't really shove away the truth. Even if I could, I probably shouldn't. But it's a nice thought, that maybe I could pretend something that would make me feel better.

[whenshiphitsthefan]

If he's on the West Coast I'm going to sit and cry because he's so close and yet so far.　

[whenshiphitsthefan]

I used to be sad about myself but now I get really sad because I'm positive that Benedict Cumberbatch is going to die of lung cancer when he's in his sixties or early seventies and I'll be so incredibly depressed and my kids will be like "Mom you didn't really know him" and I'll be like, "fuck off [because they'll be old enough] i really liked him when i was 17 and 18 [and probably a lot longer]"

Also, below are my calculations for when I can marry Benedict Cumberbatch and it won't be creepy (on his part--I'll still look like a gold digger).

half age plus seven

f > m/2 + 7

f = m - 18

m - 18 > m/2 + 7

m/2 > 25

m > 50

f = 50 - 18

f = 32

When I'm 32 and he's 50.

Only 14 years to go! WOO!

...Oh my god you guys, I'm so sorry for spamming you.　

[whenshiphitsthefan]

This is extremely depressing, but I feel the need to say that I honestly think that Benedict Cumberbatch's cause of death will be lung cancer.