(no subject)

So I have discovered that Boozy Book Club is bad for my wallet... :D

We had an amazing discussion last night about The Cities We Became by N K Jemisin, and then ranged freely around thrill seeking, Everest climbing and the inherent selfishness of it, ghost stories, Robert Macfarlane (I CANNOT RECOMMEND UNDERLAND ENOUGH), philosophy, MR James... it was so much fun.

Have accidentally finished the evening by buying The White Road by Sarah Lotz, resolving to finish reading The Old Ways by Robert Macfarlane - which has been stalled a while, pre-ordering Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt and looking for a copy of The Weird and the Eerie by Mark Fisher, which is our read for next month.

And now I need to start the Bird King by G Willow Wilson for next Friday's book club.

My reading has been fanfic-oriented for such a long time - because my mental health has been bad, so reliable tropes and predictable emotional reactions have been a safety net - and it's kind of delightful having new and interesting reads coming into my life. Reading with a book club is a different kind of safety net, I think - you know there is somewhere to put your emotions after, which makes it less unnerving to experience them.

I spent a lot of my childhood being told I was Doing Emotion Wrong, and I think I've subconsciously come to the conclusion that emotions are the enemy, over time, and I think the trouble I've been having with the intensity and logic of my emotional reactions lately are due to the build-up of what I've been pushing down over time. So I guess... book clubs are a way to experience, affirm and check emotions against others'?

Non-standard coping mechanism, maybe? But it's working for me.