a blog post of the style live journal

(the collective) they have been saying that history will be more difficult to write since no one keeps diaries anymore.  public figures will have to be judged only by their actions and their speeches.  the world of diaries has seen such gems as that of Samuel Pepys, a 17th century English naval procurement officer.  Wikipedia notes how he left valuable contemporary accounts of GREAT HISTORICAL EVENTS and how he was a great bibliophile.  Noonan (in Bribes) notes him as being thoroughly corrupt.  

12/20/64 Up and walked to Deptford, where after doing something at the yard, I walked, without being observed, with Bagwell home to his house adn there was very kindly used, and the poor people did get a dinner for me in their fashion -- of which I also eat very well.  After dinner I found occasion of sending him abroad; and then alone avec elle je tentoy à faire ce que je voudrais, et contre sa force je le faisoy, bien que pas à mon contentement.

as you can see the world will suffer from lack of diaries.  that is why i now find it important to write a series of sentences, perhaps amounting to a paragraph or more, in close accordance with the scope and drift of the past day's activities as witnessed by me.

"totally totally totally wtf.  i am not hung over.  the guy on the bus was bragging about how he was hung over.  or instead i am thinking of the guy on the bus ride home in the evening bragging about how someone else was hung over.  i don't know why i hear so many drug deals (or better said tentative attempts at drug deals suffering from volitional constraints one party's part) being discussed on cell phones on crowded buses hallways by my young colleagues here at the university.  but also this evening (since it was crowded) i was sandwiched between two Spaniards, one of which uttered the phrase "...que tiene su justa recompensa..." , and three putonghua speakers.  so not even hung over.  (but for me to say so is a willful flouting of Grice's maxim of Manner, be perspicuous , and I have generated the inference that there was a chance of me being hung over).  NOT EVEN hung over, I rode the bus to school.

but before I even stepped ON the bus.  I walked many paces.  (hounds, paces, full moons, so that none is cheated)  I had a box in my hands and I wondered about whether anyone on the street would say to me, "hey what's in the box?"  and i'd say "books."  or if i felt sauce i'd say "books and two slices of pizza."  or if i felt saucier i'd say "my effects."  as i feld the leaves into a pinioned closure no one asked me what was in it.  a man who was my friend asked me for sixty cents.  not now chief i'm carrying a fucking box.  

if i could only get the box into my office i would feel that i had made a positive step forward in "getting organized."  in order to savor this moment of organization I scattered everything around at my house and didn't get dressed for a long time, to heighten the effect of my reformation.  

BOOM.

my first class.  one student comes to my to petition and i found myself speaking again as if i were the form 3 math teacher and i had already heard every excuse.  "So are you saying that I should have deducted those points last tim?"  but i can't even regret my curtness because lecture was about to start.  this would be an important lecture since i might see the clip that i had clipped just for today.  nothing much else to talk about.

the rest of the day passed without incident.  i came home to eat dinner.

alone avec elle je tentois à faire ce que je voudrais...