Well, it's march now, and the weather's perking up. I've got a lot on my plate this weekend, like papers for Dave and Sexton and Spellman (due later on, yeah, but that's no excuse to not start early), and of course getting those tapes for SR burned onto CD's -- no easy task: the tapes are 90 minutes, and the CD's only hold 80, which is a shame. I've also got this Narrative history to read, which is a good little dry background to what I'm writing about.

Have finished Peralandra and now started That Hideous Strength. Something about the end of Peralandra brought back memories of youth, of Summers spent at Camp Mitchell before I turned calleous, of the kinds of fiction I should have been writing, and most importantly, of The One. I'm really just ascending into Neoplatonisim, and I don't care, because it's nice to have SOME philosophy, some moral ground by which I can move.

Well, there's still Latin and a lot of reading to do, and Aul Drew mumbled something about doing something this weekend, so there you are.

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