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As a normal Tuesday after a long weekend, with a heart knowing there's work to do, I have been doing something I should not be doing: reading Misery (by Stephen King).
 
Then, without all signs, on page 193, 6th line from the bottom, I saw my birthday printed on the yellowish old paper: March 18th, 1979.  Italicized.
 
Something just creeped up on me..  I do not like to see my birthday, my name, my anything being printed in a horror novel.
 
It's a sing, a sign tells me to stop screwing around and get bak to the meaningless work that eats you in a delicately similar yet different way..
 
 
 
So I decided to write this moment down.
 
 
There's a movie on Misery.. my coworker says I'll have to see it once I have finished the book..
 
but how can a girl (who bit her ex's finger off when he was trying to tell her a scary story in dark) be watching a sickening horror?
 
There's a reason I read the book during the day!
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