bipolar

How fitting is it that Martin Fucking Freeman is 42 today? FORTY TWO!

(And - again - if you don’t understand the significance, get the fuck off my blog and stop calling yourself my friend. Seriously.)

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I put the Cabin Pressure fan fic aside, because all it’s doing is pissing me off.

I was itching to write today, so I started writing the new Johnlock one I’ve had on the back burner.

It’s kind of cathartic writing a good ol’, pissed off, John Watson. Martin Freeman swears so much in real life, that a cussing John Watson - one that, at times, seems to have only the word ‘fuck’ (and variants thereof) in his vocabulary - has become canon. It was pretty fun to write John Watson with the censor off.

I didn’t mean to write this, but it just kind of slipped out: There had been a case where John and Lestrade had been arrested for solicitation. Mycroft had stepped in, made sure the charges and everything else, except for Greg’s school girl outfit, went away. Mystrade and cross dressing… two things I never thought I’d put in my Johnlock fics. I think there’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m definitely keeping it, though. It does need some polishing, but that will come in time.

(OMMFG! Spell check wanted to change Lestrade to straddle. NAUGHTY SPELL CHECK!)

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I used my UK iTunes account today (which I am no doubt going to get busted for, eventually) to purchase the Cumberbatch movie “Wreckers” among other Cumberbatchian goodies, like a reading of “Jabberwocky” and the UK version of his episode of “Top Gear”. Can I just say that the £10 gift card someone AWESOME sent me disappeared way too quickly? It did. I’m down to 53p or something stupid like that.

Anyhoo - I just finished watching “Wreckers” and wow… that movie wrecked me.(HA!)

I… just… can’t. It’s not particularly good, and there isn’t enough Cumberbatch in it, but the ending shook me. I hate when that happens. Guaranteed I dream about it tonight.

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I started to move the contents of my FOUR backup hard drives (and six thumb drives) to a newer, much larger, hard drive. (I swear to Dog, if I run out of room on this one, I’m going to pitch a hissy fit. However, I should probably point out that two of them are tiny little drives, one is full of photos and music and the other is a backup of three computers and the other big backup drive. The thumb drives I can’t explain. I think they fuck like bunnies when I’m not looking. Last I knew, I had exactly three: a SIMS plumbob, one I got at the GTD summit, and one with a friend’s pictures from BOSCON. However, I found six… SIX!)

I had a pretty good scare the other day when I couldn’t access the drive that had my iTunes library and Lightroom backups on it. Thankfully, it was just unplugged, but it made me realize (again) that there’s a lot of my life that’s been digitized and I don’t want to lose it. I was also thinking about how much room I take up by doing certain things I should probably never admit to. (I’ve given up being a web design dork to engage in other, more colourful aspects of the web. My inner fangirl has taken certain things and run with them. I’ve learned things I never thought I’d want to learn…)

At any rate, I’ve got a completely ridiculous, completely paranoid, back up plan.

It makes me feel better.

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Speaking of feeling better, after 10 years, we are finally replacing our mattress. It’s been a long time coming, but those things are freaking expensive, and I haven’t wanted to spend the money on it. (That’s our London fund!!!!) However, it’s gotten to the point where I wake up in pain every morning.

We had a blast shopping for a new mattress. More fun than any two people should have, that’s for sure. (And no… there was none of THAT going on. I was just manic. I’m FUN when I’m manic.)

If I’d known it was going to be that much fun, I wouldn’t have put it off for as long as we did.

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This entry had a point, at one point, but I’ll be dipped if I can remember what I was going to write about…

Oh well…

Rereading my last few entries has led me to believe that I REALLY shouldn’t blog when I’m manic.

I normally write somewhat terribly here (compared to my fan fic, work, etc.), but wow.

I fucked up loose/lose and that’s one of my BIGGEST pet peeves. And that whole thing about my Subie?

What. The. Fuck.

I would never, normally, call my Subaru a Subie. It’s a Bubaru. Always has been since the woman fucked up saying ‘Subaru’ during my very first Subaru’s very first oil change. Always will be.

For a car that survived high school, college, and the move to Ohio (so what, 10 years?), we saw a lot of things, lived through even more, and THAT’S still one of my top ten memories.

That says a lot, doesn’t it?

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Any way… calmer emotions, a quieter head, today.

It’s good - I need to recharge before heading to NY tonight. Annie will be crushed. I’m staying with her brother and his girlfriend, but C offered first and I’m looking forward to getting to know her a little better.

I’ve needed the release of a good night, with good music, and better people in a while. This show couldn’t have come at a better time. I don’t care that we’re going back to NY in two weeks for Annie’s wedding… I NEED to be in upstate tonight like I need to breathe air.

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Feeling better about work. It kind of ebbs and flows. I’m worried I’ve made the wrong choice still, and I know that’s my stupidity. I’m perfectly capable of doing this job. They love me. There are things I want to do there to really make everyone’s life easier. Month end’s not rocket science…

I know this is residual from the last job that didn’t work out because weeks 3 and 4 were when all hell broke loose then. Week three was not a good week (mania…), but that’s not directly job related so I think I’m OK.

Besides, if anything, the perks make it more tolerable than most jobs I’ve held. Free lunches every day and I’ll never pay more than $59 for a hotel room as long as it’s within our parent brand’s properties. (And they own some VERY NICE brands that I would never stay at because of the pricing.)

OK. I should go pack…

Here’s to good friends, good music, and a good time in Weedstock!

A few days ago, I had a major crisis of faith.

A BAD ONE.

I’ve not really kept my job search nervousness a secret, and this week it blew up in my face.

Big time.

Like I said earlier, my boss is not the type of person I learn well from. It’s caused a lot of frustration and I think I snapped at him the other day. I don’t remember… all I know is I called a different company during lunch and wanted to know if they were still interested in me. They are.

So. Yeah.

I was thinking about leaving my new job to start another new job because I wasn’t sure I made the right decision and panicked.

Yesterday, I don’t know what happened, but it was like he knew.

He was great to deal with. He asked me if I was happy. He was fun. We bonded.

We talked about pr0n.

What? Don’t most people talk about pr0n with their boss during their second week at a new job?

Shit, on my fourth day in, I said I had to turn off my vibrator. (My cell phone wouldn’t stop vibrating - I was getting a shit ton of text alerts from the Weather Channel.)

(OH! How about writing “Ass Controller” instead of “Asst. Controller”? That kept me laughing today. Too bad he wasn’t in the office to know that. I also fell off my chair twice.)

So… now I’ve managed to go from hating this job and wanting to leave to loving it and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

I give up.

I hate when I get like this… it’s anger flavored mania. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does?

Look. The. Fuck. Out.

I had to go out today, against my better judgement. Of course, “ya cahn’t get theyah frum heeah” is never more true than in the summer. (I think I just slaughtered my grandmother’s Maine accent…)

I had to go to Rite Aid and pick up a prescription and some other stuff. While I’m waiting in line to pay, the woman in front of me is buying almost $200 worth of shit. AT A RITE AID. (It’s a pharmacy/convenience store… they’re not made for huge grocery purchases, you know?)

It’s obvious she’s a tourist. Everything about her screams it. Everything.

So she finally pays and leaves the store. The cashier looks at me and apologizes. Because, of course, they’re short-staffed today. Why not?

I couldn’t help myself and with my snark on full-blast, I said “It’s the price we pay for living here. All we do is wait for tourists to get out of our way on 95, Route 1 or the local Rite-Aid.”

The guy behind me choked back a laugh and the woman behind him (I think) said, “Amen!”

I know, I know…

I CHOSE to live here, but when there’s really only two ways to get from point A to point B and they’re full of moron tourists, it gets really hard for me to keep my shit together.

Then again, moments like watching the douchebag from Nova Scotia bottom out in a parking lot and break his trailer hitch almost made it worth being cut off by him…

I’m reading a (painfully slowly updated) Cabin Pressure fan fiction full of Martin!whump. Basically, he’s all depressed and suicidal and Douglas comes to the rescue. While the author is talented, and the story is decent, I feel like they don’t get depression. Especially a suicidal depression.

You can’t just bounce back from wanting to kill yourself / jumping off a bridge as quickly as Martin seems to. At least, I can’t. It takes time, love, patience, love, and time. And patience. Did I say that already?

While I don’t want the author to have ever gone through what I have, I do believe in writing what you know. Research can only take you so far.

I’m not saying that I’m writing what I know (hello! gay sex!), but I’m touchy about people who write about mental illness. And yes, I’m a bazillionty hundred thousandy percent that there are gay men reading fan fic written by women who probably get pissed at unrealistic portrayals, too. Actually, I know for a fact that a gay guy took the time and wrote a guide on gay sex for fan fic authors… and I’m not ashamed to say I have it bookmarked. Just in case I want to pull a lemon out of my citrus pocket.

(I always feel like I need to preface shit like that with: “Pot. Kettle. Got it. Movin’ on.”)

But since I feel like the internet’s poster child for mental illness in my corner of the world, I want everyone to know exactly what it feels like to be suicidal. To plan the day you’re going to kill yourself. To face rushing water under a bridge and prepare to jump. I don’t want it glossed over which is what a lot of fiction writers do…

We’re never going to get the understanding, love, time and patience we need until people KNOW, until they get that punch in the gut that clues them into the fact that it’s not all in a depressed person’s head.

That this is real.

That this is painful.

That it fucking sucks.

I hate Martin!whump. I hate whump in all forms, so I’ll never write it, but damn, some days I want to.

Just so the authors can see how it really is.