Well, I have nothing to say. Or rather, I have nothing to say and I'm tired.

Class was uneventful, lunch with The Insurrectionist was noisy, as the formerly quiet table was overwhelmed by Helen, her friend, and other some people who, I assume, were either intense Ultimate Frisbee fans or wandering French Bohemians.

Then it was off to the library, to study, and then it was off to dinner with Ann, who I chanced to meet at the aforementioned library. We managed to discuss a poem that neither of us has read, and I managed to find someone who hadn't yet heard about my powerslide, which with the passage of time has become a tale of high-speed heroism.

Later I went to the coffeehouse with Greg and Nick-From-Next-Door, ostensibly because I wanted to hear some jazz and they invited me, but really because Greg forgot his wallet and Nick-From-Next-Door didn't have any money to lend him. So, wallet in hand, I went, and bought myself a shot of strawberry syrup. Disgusting.

Later.