Do what makes you feel good…

i made another thing

Hmrph.

I was told I was too old to spend hours on tumblr with the teenagers.

I was told I was too old to obsess over actors.

I was told I was too old to obsess over fictional characters.

I was told I was too old to write fan fic.

I’d like to point out that I’m NOT to old to find an escape from the noise in my head.

If I need to regress, then I’m going to fucking regress.

I buried a post about my version of self-harm in a flurry of fandom posts… because I didn’t want it found, even though I made it public.

I’m a walking contradiction. I know. It’s part of my charm.

When I get like this (on the fringe of The Ick), I’ll do anything to laugh or otherwise distract myself. Otherwise, the voices in my head drown out everything worth hearing. I’ve talked about them, sometimes too much, but they’re always there. When I’m manic, they tell me to do stupid, reckless things. When I’m depressed, they tell me to do stupid, reckless things. Since basically I reduce myself to blogging when I get like this, I don’t get a whole of distraction from other people. (I almost said ‘stimulation’. That’s something COMPLETELY different. Freudian slip, much?)

That’s not to say that I don’t have people reaching out to me and keeping me sane. That’s not to say I don’t have other outlets that will keep me distracted.

On my list of distractions is listening to “Cabin Pressure” - it never fails to crack me up.  (Yes, it includes Benedict Cumberbatch, but that’s besides the point.)

Seriously, how can you NOT laugh with dialogue like this:

Arthur: Aha, my signature dish. Behold! Surprising Rice.
Douglas: Good lord!
Martin: What are those bits?
Arthur: Ah, you see, Skipper, if you don’t mind me saying so, that question is entirely against the spirit of Surprising Rice.

So.

Long story short…be patient with me and my non-stop fangirling.

I’m going to get better soon.

And things should change around here.

Maybe.

C’est fini…

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).

Seriously.

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.

Hiddles is love

holy fuck… this is eerily accurate

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard at anything regarding fanfic (and I thought the bingo card was awesome)!

This one is probably my favorite: If Sherlock gets the milk, he’s DTF.

 

He’s such a child

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.

reichenbach feels… again

I got bored…

...and made a thing.

That then made me cry.

Fuck you, thing.