Ah, well i began writing something yesterday but really as is known woe is a better motivation than moderate contentitude to writing and it ended up unfinished. So the shoulder of my beloved, at this concrete 9 moment in time, when my anti-virus' daily scan means I type, and words hesitate to appear, like the tokens of affection i would have shewn, but that my arsey shyness prevents. For what does love do if not wringt mich, biegt mich, schlingt mich und schwingt mich

wirft mich unnnndddd

faengt mich zurueck?

Rilkean emboldishments betoken ill, im sure you'll agree. The Uebersetzung of all this, in the register of pathetic, geangsted 25y/o males, is the following. Yesterday, the first day of being back, yielded several tokens of the type blandishment ( google tells me that's the wrong word, or at least not the write word). A warm howdo, a singling out after class to verbal intercourse; somewhat marred by an awkward chance encounter later in a bookshop. Today but there was a frostiness that is no longer on the roads; same room but infinitely separate, eyes as twere of two blinds, invisible to each other. Really, the verbalization of the angst reveals that it is, to quote myself, a piddling merdated nothing. And indeed a plan for tomorrow offers itself: even when it introduces an awkwardness, which, being me, it will, i'm to accost her before\after class, that my affection be shown, tho my it is better to do nothing and appear like a shy fool than to open one's bag of actions and remove all doubt dictum be demolished. Yes. Also, tho I need to shower, and can't expatiate on this at the length i'd, some interesting thoughts are arisen, like the x; do i want her?

The preceding is to be taken as a propositional function ( can a prop function contain conjunctions; can one say eg " a is tall and x is short"?