I’ve been reccing a lot of Chuck Wendig lately, I know, but he’s very kick-in-the-pants inspiring, especially when you are engulfed in boxes, packing newspaper, random bottles of caulk (yes what I know), and tears. So if you too are moving and need a writing-focused break, hie yourself to the nearest clean box-free corner and read this:
In other news, we’ve managed to get most of the kitchen cleaned and put away. Which leaves the rest of the house. God, an actual house, with actual space. I suspect we may try to cram everything into two bedrooms despite all that actual extra space, out of habit.
Meds, Scripps, Screw it, Let’s Go to Canada!
Blew my wad tweeting yesterday about my increase in prescription copays and the rising costs of generic drugs. Here’s a June article from the NYT reporting, something I should’ve been paying attention to, according to the prescription/pharmacy rep I spoke with about the situation:
Interesting they call us “users” in the title, when the whole article drives home the point that, despite the fact that we need these fucking things to survive, we are CONSUMERS according to the law, and therefore at the mercy of whatever the company wants to charge until someone drops dead at the right time in front of the right cameras. But overall, this is an important article. If you’re on any sort of generic maintenance medication, you need to read it. Do it now before you get on the phone to argue with your insurance, and they tell you to do a better job of watching the news.
The little Gouda wheel in my belly is over 17 weeks old, and I’m worried I’m not gaining weight quickly enough. So far I’ve only gained 4 pounds. Also had a mild flare up, so I’m back on the nightly Rowasa[*] and things are normal/non-urgent again. Flare was likely due to moving/working/cleaning all the things. Our next doc appointment will be the big 20-week ultrasound.
Reading (some of the things)
Despite all the moving/working/cleaning all the things, I’m finding some time to read. Stalled out on page 714 of Atlas Shrugged, because Jesus Christ I can’t anymore, but I may check it out again after the moving calms a bit. I’m feeling vaguely completist about it in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. Probably because just reading as much as I did feels like a lot of work for nothing if I don’t finish it. And while I’m not a fan, I want to critique it from start to finish. I sense it may get more silly now we’re in the Valley of the Dollar or whatever the fuck John Galt & The Best of The Best of The Best (Sir) are calling their magical commune. In the meantime I have a stack of books from Vaginal Fantasy Book Club‘s reading list:
– Lady of the Forest, Jennifer Roberson
– Lady of Sherwood, Jennifer Roberson
– Succubus Blues, Richelle Mead
The Roberson ones are a little slow-moving for my moving-addled brain, but I’m muddling through. Any recs for the fall, guys? Besides the last 400 pages of AS?
*For ye of first-time reading, these are enemas. Oh yeah, oh yeah, etc. I used to be very blushy and self-conscious about the idea of medicinal enemas, or talking about them, because BUTTS, am I right? Apparently having ulcerative colitis for eleven years will do away with that nonsense. It’s all butts all the time here, folks.