We’re almost done with our re-watch of The Terror. Season 1. It’s a goddamn masterpiece. Yup. It’s. SO. GOOD. A masterclass in…everything, honestly. And it’s perfection in the sense that it’s one and done. Sure, there’s a season 2, but it’s an entirely different show. Completely different story. Like, dammit, what’s it called. Anthology. Like an anthology series. And season 2 is garbage, unfortunately. Season 1, though…the actual story of the HMS Terror and Erebus. A masterpiece.
A good sunday. I still have to go through my task list and get myself set up for the week ahead…but all around a good Sunday. We were suppsoed to hang out with Liz and Ali, but Joy got into chocolate right as we were about to leave, and decided we needed to stay home with her and make sure she was alright. She was. Now, it’s seeming like she didn’t actually EAT any of the chocolate…or if she did, it wasn’t enough to mess her up. That’s a relief.
Took a badass nap. Finished up some Netflix work. Went and got burritos enough to last me for a couple weeks. Started a new book and got that contented “aaahhh,” tucking-into-a-new-book feeling and realized I haven’t had that feeling—or perhaps I just haven’t noticed it—since…I was a teenager, I think. I used to LOVE that feeling. The adventure ahead. The promises the cover and the opening pages give. Man…it quite literally brought tears to me eyes, feeling that. I’d lost it. School, honestly, drove it out of me. Reading so much and so critically for school, being so stressed about my time; I used to read constantly, and just for fun. And then I stopped—during school at first, at least the “for-fun” part, and then entirely when school ended, because I was burned out and tired. Well, I’m reading again. Reading like I used to. A lot. For fun.
Night night.