On a whim, my husband bought the X Files box set, and I've been going through all nine seasons at alarming speed. I'd forgotten how emotionally attached I was to these characters when the show was on. How dearly I wished that some fucking drunk driver would mow down Krycek in a parking lot and have done with it; how nearly every episode left me aching to kiss Mulder on his poor addled forehead and promise that this shit would all make sense eventually; how I would have sold my soul to get in bed with A.D. Skinner and his brooding, teeth-clenching dramatics. (Boyfriend has got shoulders out to HERE.)

One thing that's totally new to me in the re-watching is my love for Scully. I didn't feel that the first time around. Maybe because she looks more like my sister than my actual sister, or because some of our losses are comparable, or because of the history of cancer in my family that's making a beeline for me. Maybe I just care more about others now than I did in high school. I hope so.

J (husband) asked whether Duchovny and Anderson were good actors, if our love of the show clouds our judgment. I don't know, really, but my dad said something once that made sense: You can tell if a movie or show is good not by how it made you feel, but by whether it kept you thinking for a long time.