No Downton, Yes Blues

I'm not watching "Downton Abbey."  I watched a bit of the first season, but stopped.
Because I knew.
Those crafty Brits and their Telly: Trying to pull me in to yet another story, make me care about yet another cast of characters, stringing me along only to ultimately break my heart into a million billion pieces!  Well, I say NAY!  Already, in less than a year, we've had to watch Sherlock dive off a building, only to reappear, hale and whole, moments later.  But was it a relief? No!  Because he watched, as did we, John stand over his grave, breaking his own heart and ours, begging him not to be dead.
Seriously, 15 of the most heart-wrenching moments EVER put onscreen!
Along with that, we got to watch Amy and Rory get sucked 70 years into the past.  Oh sure, they lived, but they were never able to see either The Doctor OR Rory's Dad ever again!  (If you haven't seen the alternate ending, in which Brian meets his grandson & gets a letter from Rory, go to YouTube and watch it now.  I'll wait.  But have some tissues handy.)
Then, THEN, we had to watch Oswin realize she's a Dalek, followed by Claire dying.  OK, OK, OK, she's coming back, but still!
Along with that, I saw "Frankenstein," which was another heartbreaker, followed closely by "Third Star."  Although that was released in 2010.  But I WATCHED it in 2012!  And have never cried so flippin' hard at a movie in my life.
Finally, there's that moment in "The Hobbit" when Bilbo talks about his home, and how he misses it, but then tells the dwarves that they "don't have a home.  It was taken from you.  And I'll help you get it back if I can."
Dammit, Martin Freeman!  Will you please stop draining my tear ducts?!?!?!?!

So, that's it.  No more.  I will continue with the ones I've started, but I don't think I can invest in any others.
My heart simply cannot take it.

It's also that time of year that's frankly, quite depressing.  It's cold, the trees are bare, the weather sucks.  The holidays are over, it's a long time 'til spring, and everyone, it seems, is a bit down in the dumps. Here at the ol' homestead we're all complaining and snapping at each other.  (Of course, it doesn't help that Aunt Flow is in town.)
Tomorrow things get back to normal: school starts up again, folks go back to work, and I will have a few hours to myself.  I'm no longer teaching a regular Pilates class, and I start a new Shakespeare class in a couple of weeks.
Which, because I'm, well, me, has me worried that I'm not earning enough, that I'll never get another job in my life, that I should hang it up because I suck at it anyway and should just go work at the bakery at Whole Foods, drowning my sorrows in pastries, destroying my teeth and gaining 400 pounds in the process.
Oh yeah, I'm regular Polyanna, me!

But honestly, the HARDEST part came in a double whammy: The kids have entered pre-puberty.
I won't go into details.
She's 9.
He's 11.
And Mom & Dad are SOOOOOOO not ready!!!!!!!
They're still babies.  Doubly so because of the Autism.
So, yes, I'm quietly freaking out.
I'll get over it, and we'll deal and do what must be done.
But first, I need to freak out.  Just a bit.

So you see why I cannot add any more Brilliant British Angst to my life, right?
Oy to the vey.