So it begins. For nine weeks there will be practically little to no stimuli in which I may be able to exercise the mind. An expanse so large as this during the middle of a year will in no doubt consume itself in an unseen timely fashion. Scribbles of literature shall have to suffice the winter freeze. Pronto. One would think that the threat of examinations and repetition might stir an emotion. No. Had the time been last year, possibly. During this turn of the Earth around Sol the exertion of muscle against iron has released what I believe to be endorphins. Bliss is this, the time of mindlessness.
Tuesday, 5 June 2001 - 06:41
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