I put on pants today and went to writing group. This came after a lunch of leftover vegetable chow mein (last night I walked into South Dunedin for regular takeaways - maybe for the first (though I probably have forgotten the first and it is actually the second) time since COVID struck. SARS-CoV-2 has shifted my eating habits significantly toward deliveries and eating probably even less healthily.
Showering two days in a row (and it will be three as I have plans tomorrow). I am almost seeming like a human.
While at writing group I realised the three semi-novels I have bouncing around in my head all have a possession element. In fact they are all a bit similar. Me before I was sick had novels about metamorphosis bouncing around in my head going nowhere but it seems that post-getting-sick the stories I have had floating around for the past decade have all leaned heavily toward "outside force enters the protagonist uninvited, bringing 'genre' circumstances but generally ruining the protagonists life".
This may say a lit about where my brain is in relation to my illness.
At least the novels have different styles of unwanted invasion. They are even different in genre, somewhat. Only the one that least buzzes around in my head is pure urban fantasy. The only I wrote over twenty thousand words of the year before Shitlord entered my life is pointing in the direction of magic realism. The third, which may be the loudest in my head, weirdly might actually be magic realism rather than fantasy while also being the only one that would feature a dragon.... because reasons.
It is almost like I went from not being comfortable with the person I was to being frustrated at a thing being done to me without my consent.
I should stop picking the solar keratosis off my forehead and go make some dinner.
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