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Monday, March 29, 2004

Once again, I find myself avoiding accounting homework and again I find myself making great progress in life, friendships, culture and generally everything except that which I am supposed to be making progress in.

This post will be completely random, because that is how I feel like writing at the moment. Absolutely random, with seemingly, or actually if you prefer, no thread of continuity.

Life of Pi was an excellent book; it is my second time reading it. Yann Martel's style is surpassed only by the master of the English language himself *drum roll* Douglas Adams.

I got marks taken off my essay for making up words. I think that once you have reached a certain point in the mastering of the language, you should be allowed to make up words. If Adams can do it, so can I, not that I am as good or even close to the level he has, or had attained, but even so, I think that I should be able to have that right. Making up words is an art-form, a worthy expression of abstract, and perhaps less so, thought. As long as they continue to convey some meaning or impression, it should be valid, and so with these arguments on my tongue and in my mind, I will continue to do what I feel I have the right to do, irregardless of the consequences, never pausing to snipple or squotch any longer (ok, perhaps those were, are, bad examples).

I should be working.

Summary in seven words: I've too much time on my hands.

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