cry your pardon

Mama Milton looked up from her laptop; the house had turned in for the night, save the air conditioner, running its marathon paces.

Her days are full of keeping the house clean for the future owners, the ones she's trying to court with diamond-shaped TP, while she squeezes in as much summer as she can manage, palavering at the pool and parks spread throughout Mid-World.

Did she say Mid-World?

Aye. She did.

Beg your pardon, sai. It's just she is peddling through Stephen King's Dark Tower series, listening to it on CD, while she has painted and cleaned and worked.

She's downright smitten with Wizard & Glass, the fourth in the his magnum opus and she can't help thinking his words have seeped in, the phrases, the fictional villages and towns.
She reckons she will move on, find her own voice again, just as the world has moved on. (How many times is that phrase been uttered in the thousands of pages she has inhaled these past few months?)

But for now, she has remembered the face of her father and will continue to hold up her in of the bargain, keeping up on her chores while Mr. King keeps her mind occupied.

Nothing like a good book, or seven, to ease boredom.

Thankee, sai.