I'm always ordering books -- some from Amazon, others from used booksellers. I order so many that it's probably time to chalk this up to an addiction. You know something's wrong when books arrive you can't even remember ordering. And it gets worse. Yesterday, a package came in the mail, addressed to me. I knew it had to be a book because that's about all I ever order -- but it was a large box and heavy. When on earth, I asked myself, did I order something like this? So, I got the scissors and began opening, finally getting inside the package just enough to see the very bottom of the book's cover. All I could see was a pair of hands. But I knew those hands. Very, very well. They were Richard III's hands.
What in hell does it mean when I can recognize the hands of a long-dead English king?
Welcome to LIS!!
As an aspiring writer, I blog about whatever happens to move me at the moment -- though some posts contain serious content, my big-picture goal is to bring a little humor into an often humorless world! Welcome, y'all, and make yourself at home! Please make sure you update your bookmarks!
When you are offended at any man's fault, turn to yourself and study your own failings. Then you will forget your anger...Epictetus