There exists the very real problem of the massive amounts of errata accumulated in the outside world since I entered Rosewood. The library here is small, with many abridged dictionaries (abridges to nowhere whose mistakes I have nearly exhausted in my recordings, a feat that does not settle my mind in the least bit (there being the possibility of some idiot librarian zealously increasing the catalogue (a librarian who cares little for the misplaced tittle, not a jot for the freak dot, and even less for the rebel ellipsis (blue orbicular marks bouncing like rubber balls around a sun-spilled living room when I was three and happy (my condition only a minor tremble then and my mother (1935-19**, but let us obscure those fatal digits and focus on her hand in mine as we walk down the sloping paths of sleep (the world free of typos) to a pillow and a dream and a bed of soft parentheses)))))).
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