avrelia

I was awfully sorry to hear that Andre Norton died. There are so many lovely tributes throughout my flist, and I’ll just say that I remember with pleasure those good old days when I was totally submerged in her books for days and weeks…

Life is weirder that fiction when you are me. I am not sure the previous sentence makes sense, but here is the story:

Yesterday I was going home form work – tired , late, and I had a cup of coffee and a bath with juniper foam on my mind – and Buffy as law, too. Nothing special. So, I ride the elevator up, go to the apartment door – all in pleasant thoughts – open the door, and notice that the light switch is broken. “Hmm, strange,” I think, and open n the door some more. I see boxes with junk and old mail. “Weird,” I think, and enter. Then I see that the apartment is ABSOLUTELY EMPTY and devoid of any possessions, beside the aforementioned boxes with junk.

“WAAAH!” I think and look up at the door.

It is not my apartment, it is an apartment on 11th floor. I bang my head at my stupidity.

In more cheerful news, I finished reading “In the Forests of Serre” by Patricia McKillip. It was of the “slow-read” books for me, as I was reading for several weeks, but I really enjoyed the process. One of the reasons it took me so long was that I kept being distracted by some random images and ideas that grew out of the tale in the process. I have more to say, but it will have to wait till tomorrow.