I had my opthalmologist appointment yesterday, and was pleased to find out that my tiny cataracts have stayed tiny, and I just need a stronger prescription, which she provided me. She made a point of saying that my eyes weren't suffering from scleroderma; her taking the time to check and note that pleasantly surprised me. After she noted that she suffers from rheumatoid arthritis herself, it became even more understandable, and we bonded a bit over having to deal with the same kind of immunocompromised ailments*. She might have mentioned this back in 2018 when I last saw her, but I don't recall it.
Today, Bob and I headed up to our local For Eyes with my new prescription. I came out of it having purchased two pair of glasses, something I've never done before. It was costly, and I don't have eyecare insurance (Medicare supplemental doesn't cover it, and for some reason, I didn't bother paying extra to get it separately, so it's my own fault), but I'm glad I'll have a spare pair other than my current glasses. It's the first time in my life, and since I've broken more than my share of glasses, it's worth it.
We finished watching WandaVision a couple of nights ago, and I was truly impressed at how well the writers merged MCU superhero entertainment with a thoughtful exploration of grief and the processing thereof. It was by no means flawless, but I'd definitely recommend it as a solid B+ overall and an A+ for creative goal-setting.
I've also been on a bit of a reading binge; not non-fiction, since my brain rarely works that way, but I realized I've read four novels thus far this year and I'm on the fifth (or sixth?). Many folks I know would already have read twice that number, and thrown in a large number of non-fiction, but I'm pleased; at one point in the last few years, I seriously doubted that I'd be able to read anything but fic ever again.
Thus far this year, I read Vallista, by Steve Brust; Alif the Unseen, by G. Willow Wilson; and A Darker Shade of Magic, by V.E. Schwab. Oh, and I completed Exit West, by Mohsin Hamid, which I started last year without knowing that it was the 2020 choice of the Chicago Public Library's One Book, One Chicago. I enjoyed them all (possibly Wilson's effort the most, because it successfully moved fantasy off a Western center, which Hamid's book also did), and I'm now reading A Memory Called Empire, by Arkady Martine. I also completed one non-fiction book, Hood Feminism: Notes From the Women A Movement Forgot, by Mikki Kendall, which was excellent.
Huh; just realized I read nine novels last year, including the amazing Harrow the Ninth. Maybe my reading abilities started returning earlier than I thought. Next up on the non-fiction side will probably be either White Fragility, by Robin DiAngelo, or a collection of essays from writers around the world, about life in the year of COVID-19, called And We Came Outside And Saw the Stars Again: Writers From Around the World on the COVID-19 Pandemic, edited by Ilan Stavans.
I got another 900 or so words written on my story, which was remarkable, since I wrote it in longhand while waiting for my opthalmology appointment. I so rarely write by hand that it surprised the hell out of me.
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