Smallhouse Log

Thursday

How does it go? .... "And the lines, on her face, I think of as my secret place." (The lines on her face? I can't remember the lyric exactly. It should've been on the list the other day, though.)

So on my way to campus, I totally see this blonde girl in a pink coat slip pretty badly on the ice, which was, incidentally, not that icy. As I returned from campus just now, I saw the same girl again, again slipping quite badly on not-that icy ice. The moral: Some people never learn. And by 'never', I mean 'not in the course of a day'. It's equivalent. You know, for a large enough equivanlence class.

There was something else, but I've spent twice as much time in the past twenty-four hours writing e-mails as sleeping. Rah! Things are looking good, though.

Well, better. And by better, I haven't commanded meteorites to strike me or asked anyone to stab me in the 'heart'.

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