My goal when I rebooted this blog was to not start every post with “yeah my health sucks”, but dear reader? It really does. I’ve spent most of it on the couch or in bed. Blah blah blah boring things blah blah blah.
I’ve been writing “drabbles” (flash fiction it might be called in non-fannish terms? tiny bits of prose, 500 words or so), and as I wrote it has turned into a storyline I’m filling in bit by bit, and not in order at all. I love it, other people seem to like it and it’s making me want to do proper writing again. So I opened up Scrivener and rewrote a chapter. Started a second. Then there was hockey on the TV and I stopped.
Goals for next week (I wrote this week and twenty minutes later realised it’s Friday, good job):
- Rewrite half a chapter a day,
- Clean my fucking bedroom,
- Go outside at least twice,
- Answer the phone when people call,
- Start reading Lirael.
- cook at least twice.
It’s sixteen years since the first episode of Buffy was aired. This means it’s also sixteen year olds since I was in high school. What the everlovingfuck, how did this happen?
I think I’ll go contemplate the idea that I’m almost in my mid-thirties. If twenty-year-old me had known she would still be struggling with depression thirteen years old later I might not be. So I should be happy. But oh dear God, I feel old.
My obsession with Les Misérables continues. I’m actually going to attempt to read the book. Researched what translation I want and everything. Wish me luck.