Like if right this moment Benedict Cumberbatch were to burst through the door saying, “I heard about you from a friend of a friend who said you were single and had to meet you. Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and I’ve heard you have very important opinions about feminism in storytelling!” and it turned out his personality was perfect and he asked me on a date
And then a publisher burst through the door and was like “Is this your manuscript?” holding up the story I wrote in third grade “The Monster Who Ate Everything” and I was like “Yes” and he was like “We at Important Publishers Inc. would like to give you 5 million dollars for it.”
And then Jane Espenson and Bryan Fuller ran into my house and were like “We are working on a television adaptation of Girl Genius and would like some fresh blood on the project and heard you were the girl to turn to!”
And then a Blu Ray boxset of The West Wing just magically appeared in my hands
I would be like, “I am intellectually aware that this is exciting, and crying tears of relief at my more stable financial status, but honestly y’all are kind of stressing me out. I would rather take a nap.”
And that is why depression sucks.
Reblogging this from myself because it’s really true in my brain again right now.
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