Computers, Pains, and the Hearse

I just want to start by saying that I know not a lot of people read my blog posts--really, it's only a few on my Google+ that read them, my roommate included.  I don't mind, it feels like I can still say things and it doesn't matter because who reads it anyway--but the people that help look out for me do, and that's what matters, eh?

It's been a hard couple of months, though god knows I couldn't tell you why.  Don't get me wrong, most days, I am just fine, I'm normal, us and downs, and I do just fine in my day to day, though sometimes, I just have like that moment of teeth-clenched, gut wrenching, digging-holes-in-my-palms-with-my-nails, fury that I only keep bridled because I don't want to have to clean up the mess from taking my headset at work and throwing it on the ground and stomping on it repeatedly.  (I also don't want to endure the looks from when I have to requisition another at work)  Sometimes, I also have moments like this:

(Sorry to the person that did the art, I couldn't portray it as well as you did, and I cannot seem to find you a la the internet.  Have you ever tried to cry as quietly as you can because you don't want to be heard because you feel like you can't give a "decent enough" answer for why you're crying?  I think that's the worst kind of crying, because then you're trying to hold everything back and push it down, and all for, what, saving face if someone else happens to hear you and asks if you're okay?  .... Though, in my defense, this usually strikes me at like five in the morning, and I don't want to wake anyone up, so...)

In the end, I know that I'm just a person, and I'm just going through the bleh part of my life, but sometimes I just... *shrugs*  It's hard to say what may be "wrong" with me, and what may be just normal for what I'm going through.

Enjoying a relationship with a man, for whom I care very deeply for.  The distance isn't helping, but it's easier than I thought it would be, so that's always good.  He's pretty good at accepting me for what I am, and the little things I want to change are natural things to want to change (teaching someone how to make a pot of coffee, how to read on the container if it can go in the microwave BEFORE microwaving it, etc.) about someone.  I'm sure he's got lots of things he'd want to change about me if he could (the crippling self-doubt and borderline self-hatred of myself sometimes, for a start).  I'm learning and trying all sorts of new things (playing Magic and DnD, both things I've wanted to try for a couple of years but never got the chance, playing new video games, learning how much I love sharing things with people, etc).  Haven't told all of the family about him yet, if only because I want to give him the chance to answer their questions himself, and so he can meet them on his own terms.

A few things are physically different.  Still in the townhome (where would I go), still got my dog, still live with a cat named Zeus and a human named Athena, and I'm still a procrastinator, still have the TARDIS, still planning all my new artwork for my upcoming Nebraskon table, still enjoying my job (for the most part), and actually really ecstatic about the new Doctor.

Watched the premiere of the Sherlock episode, and I'm going to be a little deep here, because that's just what I do sometimes.  I enjoy Sherlock, because it's got longer episodes and it makes me smile and I have to think in order to actively keep up with it.  I was very sad when forever ago, Sherlock appeared to leap to his death, and was just dying to see when or even if there would be a next season.  So today, I enjoyed it, ended up laughing several times, and I found the whole thing to be all sorts of clever and nostalgic, without repeating itself.  As I was folding laundry afterwards, I was thinking about how Watson said that it had been two years, that he'd moved on.  Well, I thought about it.  For me, it was about two years.  It was two years that felt like I was sitting in that flat at 221B Baker Street, combing over the evidence of what happened, what I saw, what I didn't see, and trying, so hard, to find where the pieces needed to be rearranged to get the ending that I was looking for.  He had to be alive, and that was all I'd thought about on the topic.  He just had to be alive, somehow, someway.  I was thinking about how could anyone walk away from that, from something like those events, that fall, that phone call, and try to just put it away, like some old book on the shelf that you can see, out of the corner of your eye, a shadow that you know is there, but you don't want to look.  I heard that familiar music, and I felt like I'd never really left that place, Mrs. Hudson just stepped out a bit, Sherlock's going to come back, and Watson's going to trail along behind him, ever loyal and faithful and brilliant in the way that is only Watson, and everything was back to the way it was.

But I digress.  I'm really terrible at writing these things, you know.

I have a new desktop though!  Very fast, super cool, very nice.  <3333  I love it.  I've named him Mercutio.  =D  Today, I got my new desk (well, new to me, grandma's old one), and that is pretty awesome too.  (in the meantime, I've managed to wear myself nearly to the bone, hurt my back again, and either badly bruised my toe or possibly fractured it.  Sigh.  I'm not sure if I'm going to be up to working tomorrow...)