johnlock… what else?
I want to throw a party.
My Johnlock fic is DONE.
(And I didn’t revert to writing pr0n when I got stuck. It’s strictly brOTP!Lock!!!)
In thirty-ish years of writing various stories, this is only the third one I’ve finished (outside of school assignments).
It’s definitely the longest at 13K+ words. (I’ve never been able to wrap up a NaNoWriMo project in 50K words, although I probably could have been able to.)
And if I submit it to FanFiction.net, it will be the second one I’ve ever let other people read.
The first was “Scott and Kate” - a heavily dramatized retelling of a night with Soulmate Boy - and only C-Rollz got to read it. He’ll be the only person to ever read it because his reaction… OMG. I can’t even… he killed me. With kindness, but still. It was intense. Maybe because it’s such a personal tale? I don’t know, but damn. He had me in tears.
I’d like to have it beta’d and brit-picked before it goes live, but I don’t know how realistic that goal is.
In the meantime, I’m just going to sit here and be proud of myself.
perfect benedict is perfect
The more I learn about this man, the less he surprises me.
Let’s talk self-harm, shall we?
I’ve never been one for blood, so conventional self-harm is something I’ve never been interested in.
But. I bite the shit out of my nails. My pinkies, usually.
The number of days I walk around with one of my pinkies covered in a band-aid wrap of my own creation is astonishing. I’ve actually managed to lose count of the number of times I’ve done it recently.
Thursday morning, I ripped off the ENTIRE pinky nail on my right hand. Like down to the cuticle. Gone, baby, gone. Just like that.
Can you believe I was pissed that it didn’t hurt? PISSED.
Isn’t that the whole point of self-harm? To replace mental pain with something tangible? To distract you from what’s really going on?
The only thing I got out of it is a band-aid on my pinky that gets in the way when I type.
The most ironic part of this?
A few years ago, I went to see a hypnotist about breaking my nail biting habit. Under hypnosis, and I mean completely under, she asked me why I bit my nails.
I told her it was a comfort thing.
And that I wasn’t going to stop.
Maybe I should have seen someone about curbing my self-harm habit instead…
I’m a little over trying to type with band-aids on my pinkies.
oh my dog… best use of that line ever
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Moffat wrote that episode. I almost love him for that.
I just watched “The Good Night” because it has Martin in it. The man has the most expressive face I’ve ever seen… and I will never understand his love of cable knit jumpers. I was only half paying attention to the movie because I was on the phone with my pimp, Jim. (Dog, I have pimps and drug dealers in my life. I really should start calling people what they are, shouldn’t I? But calling people recruiters and psychiatric nurse practitioners who specialize in psych meds is SO boring.)
Where was I?
Oh, right. Jumpers. As far as I can tell, he wears two. Exactly the same, except one is a sage green and the other is oatmeal.
A fucking OATMEAL jumper. I’d bet it’s the same exact one he wears in Sherlock.
The man is insane.
This wasn’t meant to be a post about Martin Freeman. Or Benedict Cumberbatch’s cheekbones… even though I could go on about those FOREVER. And that voice… pure sex. Fringy-Sideburny-Gingerbatch is definitely hot. GAH. I need to stop before I start a Sherlock marathon and completely lose my mind.
(I’m finally watching “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” and OMG he is amazing. I’m freaking out over here. Totally disgusting fangirling.)
So, let’s get to the point, shall we?
I’ve found two international companies worth working for and one with the potential to go global. One of them I actually have a connection at - but I’m probably really not qualified for it. I can’t see that person going out on a limb for me. Plus, it’s in Amsterdam. I don’t have a problem with Amsterdam - besides the fact that I keep spelling it wrong - but why would a company take a risk on moving someone who is definitely not qualified overseas?
I’m a little amazed that I don’t really care that I’m unemployed right now. Such a weird change from the last time… but after everything they had put me through, it was heart breaking to be let go so coldly. Other than the recruiter, I haven’t done much in the way of looking. I decided to take these last two days off. It’s my mother’s birthday today, dad’s anniversary was Monday, and we went through so much shit with Guinness over the weekend that I just needed a break from the drama.
I’m still not experienced enough for some of the accounting jobs I want and that is upsetting, but I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I can magically learn about STAT or IFRS, or ERP systems, or Great Plains, or even earn a MBA or CPA overnight…
I’m second guessing myself about not applying for the job at Sig. It’s everything I want in a job and absolutely NOTHING I want in a company. (I mean, come on. Even at my most manic, reckless, stupid moments, I can NOT forget about this. Or my experience.)
I wish I could separate the two. You have no idea how badly I want to be able to separate the two.
tinker tailor soldier batch
I really need to watch that… it’s been on the TiVo FOREVER.
My favorite recruiter - the one working harder for me than anyone else - found a position that is, in every way, shape, or form, perfect for me.
Except that it’s at Sig Sauer.
I don’t do guns.
I just don’t.
And my reasons are ridiculously personal.
It goes against everything I am. Everything I believe in.
I don’t care that I’m not my job.
I don’t care that guns don’t kill people, people kill people.
As one person said to me: “The only other subject I’ve known you to be so touchy about is alcohol.”
I told him to put two and two together. Then I told him something I’d NEVER told anyone before.
I pointed out that for everything I’m so open about, there’s several I refuse to talk about.
This is one of those things.
I’m not going to work there.
I don’t care what it means for us financially because I’d hate myself every single day.
And I can’t live like that.
his smile never fails to make me smile…
Aw… smiley Star Trekbatch. The ONLY reason I’m going to sit through the new Star Trek movie…
My friend, K, posts lots of parenting stuff on Facebook and one of today’s topics was about helicopter parents. The moral of the story is to leave your kids alone and let them fail.
I had to comment on the post - it was too perfect to pass up. “Judging from the number of times my father uttered the phrase, “We’re playing a game and it’s called ‘You Lose’.”, my younger years were FULL of fail.”
That, of course, got me thinking about all the failing I did. And holy shit. My younger years being chock full o’ fail really isn’t an exaggeration. Not at all.
I said a couple of days ago that I went back through all my old journals. It’s all there in black (blue, purple, red, green, even pink) and white. In journals covered with stickers of local indie bands. In journals covered with headlines and snarky comments carefully cut out of magazines. In journals filled with ticket stubs, crappy drawings, and crappier story ideas. In journals filled with enormously impossible amounts of teenaged angst. In journals that show a clear progression of love, loss, hatred, more hatred, mania, depression, and some - but not a lot - of healing.
I’m not going to go into the details of what I’d like to call my ‘greatest hits’, but trust me. If I were a musician, they’d fill a 10 CD box set. At the very least.
The last time I saw my father alive, he said everything I ever needed to hear. He let me know, rather vaguely, that there were times when I actually won the game of “You Lose” because I learned my lessons. Maybe we had to play the same round several times (might have had something to do with my small addiction to ‘bad boys’... yeah. definitely did.), but the lessons were eventually learned.
If I ever lost my mind and decided to have kids, I know I’d be playing “You Lose” with them as well.
Is it the best way to parent? Probably not…
But I can guarantee you, it teaches kids a LOT about the real world.