OOC!

I have never heard anyone use that abbreviation but Wanda on Doogie Howser, M.D., but it stands for out of control, as is apparently my literary life for the moment. The material that was to be this entry accidentally turned into a poem, and not a good one at that, so we are left with little to report. Except that the copy of Jane Eyre that I mentioned I planned to read a few posts ago has disappeared. Now, we here at Rose-coloured do *not* lose things, and we most certainly do not lose books. I had taken it down because I wished to see the picture of Jane on the cover, and then put it away somewhere because I had something else to read first and now *I do not know where*. Do you? I still have something else to read, so this is not an issue in that sense, and yet it has already ruined my morning (it's early yet, we could bounce back). I keep wandering from bookshelf to bookshel, in vain search. I know I will find it a week from now somewhere that does not make sense, like the freezer (but not actually the freezer, I already checked). If you see Jane, please tell her I'm looking for her.

This sense of dismay is not helped by the fact that it is pouring out and I am feeling ill. I can't attribute the illness to anything, so I like to make up causes, like the fact that I have been eating mainly sibilants lately (salad, cereal, soda, salmon). Which is clearly utter silliness, but cheers me on this most sad and difficult day of book-loss.

Why don't you like me / Without making me try?
RR