Hallo! I don’t physically have to go to school today, so I slept late into the morning. When I half-awoke I knew that there had been strange dreams, but I couldn’t remember what they’d been about. My cat was worrying at my arms and face with her paws and nose, insisting that I needed to get up because she needed something. She’s nowhere near polite enough not to tell me when she needs things, even when I’m half alseep.

So I rolled out of bed and across the floor and out of the window onto the roof above the porch and conginued over the edge

And I fell, comfortably, for what felt like a long time. I could hear the radio playing NPR through the wall between me and the kitchen. They were talking about the SCOTUS nominee confirmation process, about what it felt like for an ex-convict to vote for the first time, about sending toilets into space. I was only half-listening.

I landed on my feet outside the back door, walked through it, and went looking for cat food and a cup of coffee.

I have run out of Stephen King books to read, at the moment. I think this means either a trip to a library or to an online bookstore. I have searched in two libraries and two physical bookstores for the next book in the Dark Tower series, to no avail.

When I called the village library up the hill from the college campus to ask if they had Songs of Suzannah on the shelf, the sweet old lady on the other end of the phone happily reported that they did have the book but it was down a set of rickety stairs at the back of a dusty filing cabinet in the basement. When I arrived at the library later the same day, the librarian at the counter, a severe looing younger woman, told me that they had never had that book, that the library didn’t have a basement, and that, incidently, the old woman I had spoken to on the phone hadn’t worked there for over fourty years.

The bookstore on the main drag beside the college campus has strange and unpredictable hours which are constantly changing and seem to discourage the possibility of customers, but I’ve been persistent about it and they seem to have a broader collection of Discworld installments than Dark Tower books. The man who works there, who wears a tie-died mask and is currently calling himself Larry, turned out to be surprisingly helpful and plucked a German-English dictionary for me from a shelf where I could have sworn there hadn’t been a German-English dictionary before.

I just want a spooky adventure story to read by candle light in the evenings, before I fall asleep and dream of things I can never remember afterwards.

Folks, I hope it’s an excellent Sunday.