Running on fumes

I'm so close. So close to being done.

I'm also an exhausted, bedraggled, emotionally-fragile basket case. Yesterday I took a break from writing to watch a couple of clips from Grey's Anatomy on YouTube because I was suddenly in the mood for some Patrick Dempsey (because really, when is not a good time for Patrick Dempsey?).

Let me state here that I've never even seen this show before even though I've read some recaps. (Note: the recaps do not tell you how gorgeous pretty much everyone on this show is. It's like the Beautiful People Show.) So yes. Show I've never seen before and have no emotional attachment to.

And yet.

I sat there in front of my laptop completely sobbing about Meredith and McDreamy and The Love They Share. "Sniffff! He lo-o-o-ves her so mu-u-u-uch! Mwhahhggghhhaaahhhhggggg!!! " Don't even get me started about the clip where she had put her dog to sleep. Could. Not. Handle. It.

Sometime in the next 12 hours I'm going to finish this thing, and then I'm going to get myself to the massage therapist. And I will probably spend the entire 75 minutes sobbing into that little toilet-seat-shaped thing you put your face in because it will be the first time I've unclenched in about 6 weeks.