can you just imagine like a group of these two foot tall motherfuckers squaking around in th tall grass and snapping at the heels of random passers by
Let me explain you a thing.
When I say I adore Misha Collins, I don’t mean because he’s attractive or funny (though that comes into it), I mean because he is a genuinely nice person.
I was at Asylum 10 this weekend, and for Misha’s autographs he wasn’t allowed to personalise things because of time constraints which is fair enough. However, when I was getting mine, I managed to blurt out (I mean it I was shaking really hard) how important it was to meet him, as Asylum 10 was a goal for me not to kill myself.
The second I said that he stopped writing and looked up at me, and his response was:
“You need better goals.” I almost laughed but I was really trying not to cry, so I responded with:
“No. I don’t.” At this point, he reached across the table and grabbed my hand, pen still off the paper. He looked up at me, shaking and almost crying and smiled and said the simplest thing. At this point he let my hand go.
“See you next year?” I nodded, I was shaking really hard and I picked up the picture and went to leave, but he grabbed my hand again and pulled me back a little. He asked for my name and then wrote what it says on the top left hand corner. He squeezed my hand and smiled and then let me go.
What?
John has a depression linked eating disorder. In the opening of Pink, after John wakes up, his breakfast consists of an apple that he doesn’t eat. This is very common in PTSD, especially those who have suicidal thoughts and tendencies, which we know John does. It’s not that they are actively starving themselves, it’s that they just don’t see the point eating, as an effort to stay alive.
When he meets Sherlock, John eats dinner as if he is starving. He digs into his food, talks with his mouth full, as if it is the first full meal he has had in months. Which is entirely likely, since John has been home for several months at that point. Again, this is very typical of people who have been suffering this type of eating disorder, and find that they are no longer as painfully depressed.
Sherlock even goes so far as to point out that after moving in together, John puts on an average of a pound a week in weight. John brushes it off as being normal. He doesn’t deny it, he just points out that he is eating more than one meal a day. This implies that he wasn’t eating this often before he limped into Sherlock’s life.
This makes Sherlock’s insistence that John eat even more powerful. He goes so far as to halt an investigation on more than one occasion, to make sure John gets a meal into him. A well-fed John is a happy John, not because he is full, but because it proves that he is happy enough to actually eat.
Sits down
closes laptop
puts head on table
bursts into tears
So, I paint my nails pretty regularly these days. I also work as a barista/cashier pretty regularly these days. A few weeks back, I had a customer come in, a fairly typical, sheltered, suburban soccer mom, and she ordered a latte from me. She saw my brightly colored nails and said, “Wow, you’re so brave! My son asked me about painting his nails, and if it’s okay for boys to do that. Now I’ll tell him there’s a cool guy who does it too!” It was a nice moment, very cute.
Then, last week, she came in again, and said, “Hey, I’m so glad you’re here! I want you to meet someone!” She then brings her son forward, and says, “Okay sweetie, show him what you did!” And he throws his hands up, showing off his bright, sparkling blue nails. He shows them off, and I show mine off to him. He smiles. We fist bump.
Guys, I’ve only wanted to cry once at work before, and that was when someone ordered a large dry soy cappuccino on ice.
This time, though. This was a good cry.
