Im reading the sign of four this week

I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor — her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her father’s disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now — a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking account, that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor — nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o’-the-wisps of the imagination.

We are shitty at emotions and expressing them and “OH MY GAWD FEELS” and I spend a lot of brain energy ignoring shitty thoughts of a rainbowed variety of subjects by forcing myself to think of other things or trying to learn things.

This morning my weird ass dreams overcame me at 7 so now I’m up and having day three of Karen tries yoga. Today is day 7 or rest day for Insanity. Dunno what to do with myself!

And its too early for my American friends to see this.

EVERYTHING IS WEIRD IN MY LIFE. SIGH.

and love Sherlock

go check out John Watson’s blog. 

Seriously. 

The comments are divine

and stay tuned because as soon as I finish my homework tonight, rewards for this and my illness are: WATCHING THE REICHENBACH FALL AND FORMULATING THEORIES

and I really need people to read them and catch holes

I think I’ve got some new ones

(i hope!)