Just a Sci-Fi Kid Like Me

I bought some books tonight as my form of retail therapy--there were sales on, which helped, and titles that I had long coveted for my personal use, and also I want to do my part to help university presses. And also, perhaps most importantly, I have no idea when my library will be up to speed so I can borrow things, and I need some things for projects right now. Luckily one of the perks of being a pop culture studies scholar is that since our work--and associated presses--are lower regarded, the price point is much cheaper!  (Also, it helps that I haven't really done anything for two months but pay bills and buy food, so my self-allotted "fun" allowance is rather healthy.

Sigh, and you can see the pressure I was under growing up to justify any pleasurable purchase in that I spent four rather long sentences explaining why wanting to buy something for myself is okay.

I've been thinking intermittently about trying again to do therapy. The main crux of the matter is my trust issues out the wazoo, and my dislike of feeling vulnerable. But now that I'm at a point of stability right now--fucking global pandemic aside--where I'm just so tired of my own brainmeat that I think it might be worth trying again.

Still fighting the stupid cold. God bless orange juice.

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I'm trying to get revved up for NaNoWriMo this year. This is the first year I've ever had free time in November (heh) so I'm hoping to have a better-than-average gander at it. I have an 84 page Southdown manuscript I've been working on this fall and want to get some significant work added to it--don't worry, I've noted the number of words thus far, and will only count new content as NaNoWriMo production.

I've been quite depressed the last couple of months, cos hey, major life changes. Not having a job bugs, as does the boringness of Texas. My aunt's death doesn't help either. It takes real effort to get me to be productive--god knows how many emails I owe people I just haven't gotten around to writing because I feel like it will devolve into me whining, and I *hate* whining (contrary proof on this site notwithstanding). When my cold is all better and I won't feel like contagion-on-legs I plan on going to the Starbucks a few blocks away to write.

It's funny, but years ago writing was the easiest thing I could think of. I could sit down at the computer and chuck out pages and pages a day, cheerfully. Now I just feel kinda scared. I remember being good, but now I keep secondguessing myself. Which is admittedly something every writer does, but still, there is terror there there wasn't before. And I am fighting that along with everything else.

I also hope to hear about a job app soon. They said in their materials they would start reviewing applicants on Nov. 1 and boy do I have my fingers crossed.