The Italian is being... strange. Again. I woke up this morning to find that Feliciano had, indeed, turned in his report. But I believe he must have copied the wrong files into his e-mail because I also received a rough draft of what looks like the beginnings of a romance novel and several photos of him in dresses and skirts.

Did he want me to look ( Read more... )

I've never kept a web log before (or blog, as they seem to be called, but I don't care to preoccupy my time with finding out every new term; it could be called something completely new tomorrow). I don't see the point in such things. I feel like I'm wasting time just typing this up right now ( Read more... )