(no subject)

I'm going to be forty next year.

I'm fine with it, I'm interested to know if it feels materially any different from turning 30, which was - it's been a tough decade, but 30 was still somehow a deep breath out. I like myself more this decade, even if there's still work to be done.

I had a visit from my mum on Wednesday though, which was challenging. It was full of seemingly innocent questions like "so when are you going to write a book, then?" and "have you considered doing a PhD?" and "Why aren't you working five days a week?" and "at your age I think you deserve to be earning more." And then there are the completely batshit questions that just illustrate how entirely out of touch with the real world she is, like "why doesn't your housemate(/landlady) put your name on the deed?"

It's surprising to realise that the acceptance of the fact that I will in fact never be enough still has the power to hurt.

Upcoming read for my second book club:

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T J Klune

Linus Baker leads a quiet life. At forty, he has a tiny house with a devious cat and his beloved records for company. And at the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, he’s spent many dull years monitoring their orphanages.

Then one day, Linus is summoned by Extremely Upper Management and given a highly classified assignment. He must travel to an orphanage where six dangerous children reside, including the Antichrist. There, Linus must somehow determine if they could bring on the end of days. But their guardian, charming and enigmatic Arthur Parnassus, will do anything to protect his wards. As Arthur and Linus grow ever closer, Linus must choose between duty and his dreams.

An excellent reality-avoidance tool, I think.