February Sweeps - Day 383

(what the hell is this?  Anybody know?)

I checked out Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale" from the library a week or two back.  I had heard about the book quite often over the years, and there's a quite successful TV series based on it (which I've never seen), so I thought I'd give it a go.  It was, however, a wholly unpleasant experience, leaving a weight on my shoulders and the kind of residue on my fingers you get only from leaky diapers or the inside of garbage barrels in summertime.  I understood that the purpose was to show a dystopian society so miserable you will become emotionally involved in seeing the main character escape it . . . but it just made me feel awful inside, and each day was a struggle, until finally, today, I decided enough was enough.

I returned it just now and grabbed a Harlan Coben book (seemingly at random), and I already feel a little bit lighter, the way you feel after loosening the top button on your shirt after climbing several flights of stairs (or maybe taking off your COVID mask after wearing it for hours at a time).

I had read up on the book before checking it out, so I knew what I was getting into, but I constantly found myself questioning what was going on and why information was deliberately being kept from us.  As a writer myself, I pay attention to how real writers parcel out backstory and world-building, but this one just seemed cruelly miserly in doling out what we needed to know, and I couldn't understand how, if only three years had passed since the main character had a husband and a child, how all that was such a distant memory to her it was like me trying to remember the details of the politics of the Reagan Administration.  And it didn't help that I had gotten the 1988 audiobook from the library, and it was narrated by someone who sounded like she'd play Kathy Bates's mother in a movie, let alone Kathy Bates herself, much less Elizabeth Moss.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this.  Once again, I should be writing.  I've been at the library for more than a half hour now, and I have exactly zero words written.  Today, in fact, might be the day I stop.  I have a bit of a headache and my mask is particularly stifling right now, and I also smell recently-dried urine, which could be me, could be my mask, or could be where I'm sitting.

Push-ups Today: 137
Push-ups In February: 1772

I finished editing "White House Tour," and it was only fifteen minutes long (and even that was too long, I imagine).  Now, on to the next one.

At the library, I took this picture of the mountain looking particularly white.

I really like the colors.

Sit-ups Today: 100 (once again, these were really hard.  I can never predict this sort of thing)
Sit-ups In February: 1863

In stupid person news, I tried that "Center of Gravity" challenge that all the kids are doing, and I hit my forehead on the floor so hard, I started to enjoy Vin Diesel movies.*

During my run, as often happens, I got all ambitious about publishing stories and collections, and todl myself to AT LEAST publish the text of "podcatcher" if not get one of those audio collections ready to go.  I think/fear this may be one of those resolutions that keeps getting kicked month to month, like "Balms & Sears" was all last year, until the year is finally done and--

Oh wait, putting out that audio collection WAS one of my New Year's Resolutions for 2020.  Whoops.

Words Today: 979
Words In February: 13,220

*The funny thing is, at the end of the article I read about it, it said, "We know you’re going to try this challenge, especially the men in the audience. If you’re trying, you should probably make your attempt over a nice, cushy pillow."  I read that, of course, after having done it.