![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jan. 20th, 2015 02:40 pmI have no idea what changed, what BlueCross BlueShield did, or what kicked in from the Affordable Care Act, but my birth control prescription was free today. Bless you, Affordable Care Act and health insurance. I also had a good visit with my doctor and, barring the labs coming back unusual, that will be me declared in good health for another year.
I finished Children of the Night, after not having read it in... god, I don't know how long. Years, at least. Maybe decades. Maybe a decade, but oh my dear sweet and fluffy lord, I was young. I still enjoyed it? It did not hold up well. I look at the characters, I look at the writer and am all "Oh my god you are so fucking young. Panic attacks are not cured in an evening of aversion therapy you are so young. This book is so made up of predators or good selfless people you are so fucking young." I don't even know what to make of it anymore. It's cute. It's fuzzy. It did not hold up well. But I don't regret re-reading it, and I am going to re-read the other two in the series because there was a time a very long time ago (or what feels like a very long time ago) when I wanted to be Di Tregarde. Yes, with all the attendant suck that would come with being a Guardian. (OMG so young.) And fluff reading that's still fun is still good reading.
I'm slowly coming back to the whole writing thing. Very, very slowly. I've managed to write at least something on most days more often than not, but that's barely more often than not. Ugh. I knew this was going to be a slog, but ugh nonetheless. I feel so goddamn worthless when I have a shitpile of things to write and no energy or willingness to write them. Especially since I know, I damn well know and I encourage others to know that the most essential tool for writing is ass-glue. As in, glue your ass to that seat and write the damn thing already. But I have so much do not want right now. Ugh.
I finished Children of the Night, after not having read it in... god, I don't know how long. Years, at least. Maybe decades. Maybe a decade, but oh my dear sweet and fluffy lord, I was young. I still enjoyed it? It did not hold up well. I look at the characters, I look at the writer and am all "Oh my god you are so fucking young. Panic attacks are not cured in an evening of aversion therapy you are so young. This book is so made up of predators or good selfless people you are so fucking young." I don't even know what to make of it anymore. It's cute. It's fuzzy. It did not hold up well. But I don't regret re-reading it, and I am going to re-read the other two in the series because there was a time a very long time ago (or what feels like a very long time ago) when I wanted to be Di Tregarde. Yes, with all the attendant suck that would come with being a Guardian. (OMG so young.) And fluff reading that's still fun is still good reading.
I'm slowly coming back to the whole writing thing. Very, very slowly. I've managed to write at least something on most days more often than not, but that's barely more often than not. Ugh. I knew this was going to be a slog, but ugh nonetheless. I feel so goddamn worthless when I have a shitpile of things to write and no energy or willingness to write them. Especially since I know, I damn well know and I encourage others to know that the most essential tool for writing is ass-glue. As in, glue your ass to that seat and write the damn thing already. But I have so much do not want right now. Ugh.