Potent Literature

Sunday, July 28, 2002 -
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

I guess y'all 've noticed I haven't been writing much in this diary lately. Really like not at all. And really, I don't have to guess, because this lady, and this lady, and this gentleman, and this gentleman, have graciously told me so. I have a ton of excuses for not writing, and some of them are good ones. I have heaps of good excuses. Ooodles of noodley-good excuses. But they all boil down to one thing: I've been busy.

And that's no 'scuse 'tall.

When I started this diary, I thought, okay, no sweat, I should be able to bang down at least twenty lines a day. Of course, I started this diary with no clear objective in mind, no grand plan (I never have a grand plan. My life has been guided by the precept: "Seemed like a good idea at the time." Can someone give me the Latin for that? If that's gonna be my life's maxim, it would sound so much more impressive in Latin. I took a semester of Italian during my brief and blithe attempt at higher education, and the motto is very pretty in Italian: Sembrato allora come una buona idea. But in Latin I'm sure it would sound distinguished and consequential and grandiose and vainglorious.)

In pig Latin, my life's slogan is "Eemedsay ikelay away oodgay ideaway atway ethay imetay."

Lacks that sense of grace we're trying for, don't you think?

Um. Yeah.

What the fuck was I talking about?

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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