It rained today. I'm sorry I missed it, but even knowing that the sky was cloudy and muted, that the wind was billowing the fragrance of the wet earth and that leaves were rustling in that moist breeze was enough to make my heart light. Today was not very different from the last few. I attended some classes, didn't attend some, went down to the canteen about a hundred times, opened and closed many internet explorer windows in the computer centre, didn't do much else in the process than checking my mail and exchanging some words with people I wasn't very keen on talking to... the things that usually leave me blue didn't affect me today. A brief exchange with the rainy sky through my classroom window and a beautiful mental image when I least expected it were enough. I'm happy. Wonderfully, illogically happy.

The Brothers Karamazov is a remarkable book. Dostoevsky is melodramatic but what one at first instance construes as repetition is really the need to say something in different ways, each time looking at the situation from a slightly different angle, each time bringing something subtly new onto the canvas of the reader's mind. The story seems to revolve an imperciptible bit with every sentence, not really going forward in a straight line like some stories do. Ivan Karamazov reminds me a lot of Maugham's protagonists - independent, strong-willed, sensitive and highly intelligent. A man who knows his mind and follows his heart. A man who absorbs and understands completely feelers from the world, and chooses to interpret and act in the way that best fits into his inner reality. All four brothers are, in fact, very complex, carefully crafted characters. And the plot itself is intricate, in an almost tortuous way. I've been at it for three days and I haven't even reached half-point. I've given it more than I normally would've because of the absence of information technology in my room at this moment is offsent by the presence of information. It's interesting to be reading again... and trying to grasp the whole from the minutiae. F.D. is a psychologist an epistemologist and an existentialist. But above all that, he's a weaver of webs. I like that in people. I've really never read a story like it before. It's new. I like that.