my memory deceives me?

This morning I returned from school intending to walk into my room, approach the bookshelf, pull out my red folder with my Oxford stuff in it, and take out two C.S. Lewis essays contained therein.

(It's not that I don't have copies of these essays in other books; I think I bought the whole C.S. Lewis section at Blackwell's while I was there. But these were my particularly special first-time-I-read-these-essays essays that Dr. Ward actually handed to me, and they work for loaning to other people, since they're already copied.)

So, anyway, I and my intent agreed until, tragically, the red folder turned out to be mostly empty, and home only to articles about C.S. Lewis instead of by him.

The last fifteen minutes or so have, accordingly, been occupied by that activity known as "ransacking," which although delightful at the time, becomes most burdenous afterward.

Now it's afterward.

I don't have my Lewis essays. I do have various and sundry other notes from lectures and things I'd forgotten about, including a stack of stuff on Jonathan Edwards from the Boring Man who did some of our WJI convocations last year (that is how I remember the poor man; I couldn't for the life of me have told you what he spoke about, just that it was boring and that he had a kind of grandiose lilting speaking style and looked [and was] very educated and had a sort of East Coastish accent; other than that he is the Boring Man).

I also have a big mess to clean up.

Now I'm starting to wonder if I brought those essays home at all. Emily and Dan, you were there when I packed -- didn't I end up packing them afterall, for nostalgia's sake, if nothing else? ???