Well, I would have done this sooner, but hey, the ol' Blogger was having a fit, and wouldn't let me publish anything. Typical of the last few days, actually: classes are passing in blurs, with little to mark their going save that I wake up one day closer to exams. I've got Latin to do, I've been digitizing these tapes, there's food to be cooked, prayers to be said over swich food, and so forth and so on. It's odd.
At any rate, we're getting rain now, a real freezing drizzle, that'll ice over and pave the way for some nasty broken legs come the morrow. I'm cold, but I'm afraid to turn up the heat, lest I get another damn thirty-dollar gas bill (nigh treble the usual amount, both of fuel and of money). What's to report, really? I've been planting more things now that I've got this potting soil (thanks, Mom & Dad!), but I don't expect half of it to survive the cold and storm. I finished She last night, and started An American Odyssey, which for those of you out there who don't know, is the autobiography (bloated to over 300% with notes and explanations) of Robert Brownlee, an early ninteenth-century immigrant from Scotland. It's rather neat, in a detached sort of way.
Haven't talked to Fran at all in weeks. Don't know if that's indicitave of anything, but then again it may be indicative of everything. It was nice while it lasted, I'll say that much, and even though Satchmo says that it's easier to patch things up than to make a new start, well, I tried that, and it's gotten me one five-second conversation since.
Va Bene, you lovely people, you.