In which the car goes boom, and I suffer

It was supposed to be a brief excursion. A jaunt, perhaps.

And then, in Kentucky, the car EXPLODED.

Well, actually the radiator just sprang a leak, but that’s not nearly as dramatic.

In any case, I’ve just spent the last couple of days trapped at my in-laws.

My books were still in the car.

I had my phone, but no way to charge it.

I had a rental vehicle, but it was a MONSTER TRUCK. Who can afford to put gasoline in a MONSTER TRUCK? Not this little brown hen.

But the car has been patched and bandaged and I am home.

And sunburnt.

And hungry.

And tired.

And sweaty.

And the cat keeps yowling.

And I think there is a bee in my eye.

That is all.

My sympathy to Robert Jordan’s fans

I swore I wouldn’t read WoT until it was complete, and it’s looking like it might never be.

I’ve seen people say that they are selfish for thinking first of the books and only secondly of his family. To that, I say that we all think of what impacts us first. His death impacts his readers as readers.

The whole topic makes me antsy and long to hospitalize Lois McMaster Bujold. Just in case. She should get round the clock medical care to ensure she lives to be 200 years old.

Because I want more books.

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