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Should I, I wonder, take these times between posts to compose some long, thoughtful, and fascinating piece of writing? Should I post more smaller posts of little oddities I come across, like a photo of my poor blistered hand or that funny thing my professor said? Maybe I should just talk about the things I’ve done (we came fourth at the regatta the other weekend, for those interested). Maybe I should be doing homework.

Today marks the end of a four day weekend for myself. Thank you Thanksgiving, thank you Thursday conferences in my only Monday/Wednesday/Friday class. The total body of work that I’ve done, however, pails in comparison to what might have been possible.

Possible.

I’ve learned in my logic classes that the word ‘possible’ should raise make some warning lights go off. Certainly warranted in this case.

Another regatta this weekend is tightening up my schedule quite a bit. All the usual griping about assignments and papers amplified by the loss of two days. More of the same.

I’m going to write a story in November. I think the combination of the short deadline placed on me by the concept (more warning lights, but I think we can ignore them) of Nanowrimo and my still being haunted by it will bring out a big influence by the spooky and charming narrative of Anne-Marie MacDonald. I picture two men my age (write what you know). Some homoerotic tension, but low on the homoeroticism. An island, a raft, some insight and slight of hand. And some mystery, in both the common sense and the sense opposite of dramatic irony. Again, I think, being influenced by Anne-Marie MacDonald.

… because their hands knew how.

Until then I’ve got a paper in front of me and a man expecting me for soup in just over 30 minutes. Both are mysteries of their own. One of oblique mathematical concepts (!) and one of a Sartrian emotional relation between consciousnesses.

Now it’s me who’s being oblique. Best to leave it at that.

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