I got to page 87 of ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE, and now I don't know where my book is. I don't know if I left it in my apartment somewhere, though I searched there for it. I can't find it in my car, and my car is clean - so you'd think I'd be able to find it if it was there. I don't know if I carried it into the bookstore and left it in my locker. Or I don't know if I, for the third time or so since I bought it, left it at Larry's house. I'm into it now. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to put it down. It's not here in my cube.
OK, this is the most pointless blog entry ever.
But if you've seen my personal copy of ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE, then e-mail me at rileymccarthy@yahoo.com, for I want my book back.
It has a postcard in it of the Eiffel Tower being struck by lightning.
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