so this place kinda doubles for a side-journal

as in to record things that wouldn’t otherwise be recorded. writing using the hand *les mains* *la main* is just probably reserved for those who seemingly have a lot of time on their hands *les mains*. maybe it’s the technology, maybe the typewriter is obsolete (also the ribbon has uh, expired/used), maybe we are so used with facing the computer (i.e keyboard) as a means of communications rather than using pen and paper (no one writes letters anymore, except in dire circumstances, in prison perhaps, but maybe inmates too can use the computer). everything changes. our means and tools change but still we are one and the same. which goes to say, when one (apparently) has changed in his or her manners, either in clothing or in speech or rather i don’t know, the general outlook on things – opinions, that seem to conflict with an older version of hers, that doesn’t mean really do, change.

but what change am i speaking of? for this i must consult this typology book, but to briefly explain, as i have to go finish my lab questions before 9.30 this morning, and prepare the whole lot of it (the sheer madness of studying), and with the lack of time to do anything anymore (books await me), a few points may suffice. but i may have explained this before many times, but temperament. the constituent of your being. the mould. that has been conditioned to you from the start, whether you be fickle or feeble or fussy or frantic or frenetic or fanciful or frivolous or a fool, certain words may reach exaggeration here, i am merely exhausting my options now, but essentially, it is up to us to fashion ourselves here or there, and disposition may lead to sharpening to mastering and finally, flaunting, using.

i don’t like to find words. to stop and to ponder takes time, one does bump into one epiphany to another everything takes time and a process of distinguishing meanings filtering out what is good and bad and diminishing words afters words of course i am talking about poetry here but agh, i have no time for that. james was never a poet.

blegh. adler. must find you in the library but you’re not there. try tomorrow then. maybe, darling.

goodmorning.