Orpheus couldn`t count the slaps he`d earned over his forbidden passion for reading. One every tenth page was probably about it, but the price had never seemed too high. What was a slap for every ten page of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world?
Now, it`s not that I don`t want to read Inkdeath anymore. I`m just tired of reading all day. Since it`s pretty hot. It never got silent in the house, you know. I really want ot go home but Dad persuaded us to stay. I don`t know what I`m missing though. Maybe JN, or maybe my files. Or PS. Whatever. I wanna go home.
I`ve got a lot to blog about. Oh joy, maybe I missed the `net mostly.
I, anyway, realized that I have been really careful with my books earlier when a kid left a stain on a page. It is a deal.
I`m going now. Yays. I`m so glad someone I don`t know likes my blogs. Wow.
PS.This glass I`m drinking from is really pretty.