I don't have to pay you guys for this stuff.

In between shaking up things in my personal life -- repeatedly, talking to my therapist, dreaming of a white Christmas, fearing for the life of Sgt. Brody, falling down, and obsessing over Bruno Mars, I thought it'd be nice to write something. HEY, HI, HOW IS EVERYONE DOING? I'm not kidding about any of those things, by the way. It snowed over the weekend. Jussssssst enough to make me sit under the Christmas tree and wait for Santa Claus to show up. Southern Wisconsin got the shaft last winter in terms of snow, so I'll take anything I can get this year. BECAUSE SNOW! It's glorious. And yes, I'd still say that if we were buried under 3 feet of it. I'm not a fair-weather snow-lover.

Regarding Sergeant Brody. Who watches Homeland? I'm irrationally attached to Damian Lewis, and if you're up to date on the show, and as irrational as me, you've been biting your nails every single episode because so-help-me-god. All I'm saying is I refuse to live in a world without Damian Lewis on Sunday nights. There are exactly three fictional men I refuse to go on without: Sgt. Nicholas Brody, Dexter Morgan and Dr. Owen Hunt. Already Dexter and Grey's Anatomy are getting the ax in another season or so, so I need to start preparing now. These are trying times, you guys.

Whatever, so I have a thing for gingers, apparently. This post shall remain forever immortalized once they're all gone. Shhh.

Other things... Well, so therapy is still happening. I still like her. I feel like I've been doing a lot of venting and blah-blah-blah-ing with her, which is a lot like what I do here! And all the time! To anyone who will listen! But I pay her, so it's different. Plus, you know, medical degrees and things. I'm told (by many of you. Hi! *waving*) to keep it up because while I simply feel like I'm venting and whining and talking a lot, she's listening and listening and developing a plan. That's good because someone has got to have a plan around here.

I see her at two-week intervals, and within my last two visits I've dropped some sort of large life change on her. Then changed my mind. Then changed it again. I'm sure next time I see her she'll just slap me or commit me. Either-or. In the last month I've ended my relationship, started it over, ended it again, felt regret, relief, regret, relief, confusion, sadness, more confusion, loneliness and additional regret. It's as though I actually have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Because I don't. Not even in the slightest.

But isn't that what life is for? To figure it out? I'm continuing to learn things about myself -- both good and detrimental things. Things that are keeping me from feeling healthy in a perfectly healthy relationship, and the things I need to do if I'm going to be able to have that healthy relationship. I've also realized that I can take the time to figure it the hell out. It isn't an in or out, yes or no, black or white situation. It's a take the time, make the right moves, and follow my happiness situation. And I will figure it the hell out. Because that's what I do. Figure things out. Eventually.

LIFE AND RELATIONSHIPS ARE HARD. What is this adulthood you speak of? Stop.

Also hard: running. You guys, I was running all willy-nilly along the lakefront the other night, having a really rather good workout, until I tripped over exactly not one thing, and busted my shit up. No joke. Picture this: run, run, run, run-run, run, trip, SUPERMAN THROUGH THE SKY, belly flop onto the pavement. Only, I caught myself. With my knees. Tore my pant leg right open. Blood dripping. People probably gawking out their car windows like EXCUSE ME, WHAT JUST HAPPENED? Like a boss, I continued running the mile-and-a-half home because that's how I do. Also because really? Was I supposed to walk? It was dark and cold and I would have cried because BLOOD. Then I got home and did this. You're welcome:

It felt really good, can you tell? I'm super pissed about two things: those pants (dammit, winter running gear is not cheap) and that I possibly tore the entire birthmark off my right knee. Yes, there is (was?) a birthmark under that blood. Time will tell. Obviously I'll keep you posted with more photographic evidence.

But speaking of not a darn thing, you know what's not hard? Watching this video on repeat:


Swoon, etc. Repeat.

Happy Tuesday, friends.