That’s a relief. I was getting quite worried. She spent most of the weekend sleeping or looking like a zombie, eating only what Sam could coax into her, and using heating pads. I’m starting to think that we should accept the offer to refer her to a pain management doctor, if only to have something she can take during a flare.
So I read the latest Anita Blake novel, Blood Noir. I’m not sure why I continue to read these. Honestly, Hamilton is a decent writer. I enjoy her prose. She just needs to go back to plot school! Or maybe work with a co-writer who is strong on plot, but not relationships or descriptions?
There was no plot at all for the first few hundred pages of the book. When something involving a previous “big bad” did happen, it was nothing but an inconvenience, and over within an hour of Anita finding out about it. Whoopee. There was a crisis and danger, of course, but I found them anticlimactic after the villains Anita has vanquished in the past.
There was, of course, lots of sex. This one could have been called, “Anita gets a fuck buddy.”
Oh well. On to Sunshine by Robin McKinley. Someone recommended it to me years ago, and I happened to see McKinley’s name somewhere and remembered it. I don’t think that I’ve read any of her novels before. Short stories, maybe.
She was going to a Braves game with friends earlier this week, but it had to be rescheduled because of some conflict in another family. So they were going to go tonight, but she’s been in bed or wandering around looking like Ophelia all day. Migraine, fibro stuff, nasty allergy stuff–the works. I always feel like I should be able to make it better, and I can’t.
