Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt

Indeed. I am feeling my lack of occupation most deeply. To compensate, I decided to tackle Parmenides yesterday. Not too bad yet, except I don't know where all these people are getting the bit about the wheels making a noise like a pipe as the axles turn in their whatsits - the way I and the Oxford Classical Dictionary read it, one can have either the whatsits or the pipes, but not both, and one really oughtn't leave out the "things which have been burned", i.e., sparks, which make a lot more sense to me anyway.

Speaking of things which have been burned, I seem to be oddly prone to sunburn this year. Consequently I am spending rather more time than usual indoors cleaning my room. Perhaps, even as I am putting up new posters and eyeing the curtains thoughtfully, I am preparing to leave it behind. The horse-show and vaulting ribbons have gone in a shoebox, and their places on the wall are being replaced by signs clearly indicating that here lives or sleeps one over-fond of Tolkien and Noyes. Time is not a whirligig at present, but something else, and though I have spent considerable energy thinking about it, I am quite sure I have missed something of vital importance.

Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt

Indeed. I am feeling my lack of occupation most deeply. To compensate, I decided to tackle Parmenides yesterday. Not too bad yet, except I don't know where all these people are getting the bit about the wheels making a noise like a pipe as the axles turn in their whatsits - the way I and the Oxford Classical Dictionary read it, one can have either the whatsits or the pipes, but not both, and one really oughtn't leave out the "things which have been burned", i.e., sparks, which make a lot more sense to me anyway.

Speaking of things which have been burned, I seem to be oddly prone to sunburn this year. Consequently I am spending rather more time than usual indoors cleaning my room. Perhaps, even as I am putting up new posters and eyeing the curtains thoughtfully, I am preparing to leave it behind. The horse-show and vaulting ribbons have gone in a shoebox, and their places on the wall are being replaced by signs clearly indicating that here lives or sleeps one over-fond of Tolkien and Noyes. Time is not a whirligig at present, but something else, and though I have spent considerable energy thinking about it, I am quite sure I have missed something of vital importance.