Sofrant travail et mal et poine

[ursula]

As the Trojan women stared at the rainbow goddess in her guise of an old woman, wondering whether her words of a safe home in Sicily and end of journeyings held truth, or they should push on to the invasion of their promised land, so I waver in the pursuit of my prophesied path. Lack of focus! Art thou an omen, or an integral part of a character too Renaissance for its own good? May I yet become Saturn, strange harbinger of an upcountry Golden Age? O household gods, let me not follow too closely the careers of my foremothers. Je dois mieux travailler.

(Yesterday, at least, was a good day: I have things to compute, they show interesting numerical coincidences, and I finally understand the connection between the Greene and Batyrev mirror constructions, having torn away the veil laid over my eyes by the oversimplification of physics articles, lo these six months or a year ago. Working at home is effective, it seems, even when I fritter my time away contemplating Cold Comfort Farm and the use of liberal sexual attitudes to extort concessions from the desired.)

[Same game.]

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[ursula]

Now, if only my second language exam had been German, instead of computer programming . . .