Straightening himself and stealthily fingering his pocket-knife he started after her to follow this woman, this excitement, which seemed even with its back turned to shed on him a light which connected them, which singled him out, as if the random uproar of the traffic had whispered through hollowed hands his name, not Peter, but his private name which he called himself only in his own thoughts. "You," she said, only "you," saying it with her white gloves and her shoulders.

Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf.

written 3.05pm. typed 11.15pm.

I really intended to write something numerous times in the past month. scribbled in the margin of my 4600 notes from 12 feb:

				journal 
				entry
			    --phantom 
			      of the opera
			      	towel
			    --casey's bday
			    		party?
			    --shitty cs major
			

take those however you like. I am as shitty a journaller as I am a cs major. I'm writing this in 4600 as well, splitting my attentions, reiterating the previous sentance.

reading a cool book for philosophy of ai: basically a fictional tale of alan turing, schrödinger, wittgenstein, others, meeting for dinner and debate on my favorite topic as of late, whether it will ever be possible for computers to think. I've been thinking about it muchly. einstein critisized the academic life, saying that the most useful profession would be a shoemaker by day and a thinker by night. a reassuring view for little slack ol' me, who didn't apply to any grad schools yet at this point in my life. and who is very jealous of the acceptances of others. I absolutely want to go at some point-- just because dr. cole-black is an instantaneous display of intelligence? it's not like I've even been particularly good at school in the past few years, anyway.

sigh.

frustration.

)()()()(

I've fallen completely in love. with macs. ibooks, g4s, titaniums. jaaaaaaguar. sexy, no? I never before have had such slick and sensual experiences with computers. I want to cry for the horrible commericialized, imprisoned SOFTware, but the hardware is such a pristine piece of shiny art goodness, that I can completely have no instinctual objection with dropping a grand or so on one. someday, anyway. the free software movement must simply move more swiftly. I need gimp for macs! with gimp and vi and ichat and cute little safari--god I don't think I use anything else--I can take over the world! hee.

)()()()(

thomas is at my house right now. bizarro. he came over last night to play mao (ah, very fun game! I don't like the schadenfreude, however.) and I realized as he was about to get a ride back to campus that he was going to just be searching for an available couch at that point, and technically, our couch was available, and thomas is cool to have around, so we offered him to stay there. it is bizarre because he seems that he would be interested in staying as long as we're okay with... and boy do I hate making people leave ever, even though I am stricken by anti-socialism somewhat frequently. it's painful, because I feel as if I'm so socially broken that I can't tell another person anything, much less that they must leave because I am a FREAK. I mean, do people say that? "please go away, I'm antisocial now." nicholas usually kicks people out who are there late by saying that he wants to hang out with just me. but sometimes it's just because I pull his sleeve until he does so, and only then am I free to tell him that I am going to go and take a bath or read a book or sit at my computer, and block out the world. am I becoming old? I remember as a teenager, my mom being astounded by how often I wanted to hang out with my friends, and I was astounded that anyone would prefer to be alone. I think I had closer friends then. but is that the chicken or the egg?

oh hey.

class is over.

adieu.

[edited to add: no more thomas already. :(]