Today the postman delivered a book that – due to the events of the last month – I had completely forgotten I had ordered.

But now I am a happy owner of a perfect library-dismissed second-hand copy of Brian Lumley’s The House of Cthulhu, the Tor hardback with the beautiful Bob Eggleton cover.

I remember I was pretty excited the day I found a good copy of the book listed for real cheap on Amazon, and ordered it for my collection.
This is Lovecraft-inspired sword & sorcery, with an eye to Bob Howard and C.A. Smith, and so it fits my tastes quite nicely.
But right now, as I am rearranging my life after my father’s death, I find myself wondering whether I’ll have the time to actually read this beauty.

Fact is, I’m restless – either spending my days working on translations (my main, and painfully inadequate, source of income at the moment) or looking for a job.
And so spending even an hour reading for leisure feels like I am wasting my time, while the clock keeps ticking, and financial collapse looms closer.
I might as well have to sell my colection soon, to keep the wolf from the door.
So here am I, staring at Bob Eggleton’s Great Cthulhu on Brian Lumley’s cover, and feeling restless.

But things will get back to normal, I am sure.
It’s just a matter of time, and persistence.
Then, I’ll have time for Cthulhu, and his house.