Form and content

Snow today. I write this in the library: it is precisely seven o’clock in the evening. I got up at one and, after failing miserably in my attempts to work in my room, I came down here at five. I've such a lot to do, but at least it's interesting.

I was battered by the wind as I walked to the library; it reminded me of Bethany moor, far away. I've just finished Eagleton’s Marxism and Literary Criticism: the ‘form and content’ chapter was difficult. I’ve yet to make notes.