October 31. I made the fields for handing over.
At ten past nine I read the procedure again.
Handover papers follow the annexed form, it says.
There is no annex attached.
At twenty past nine I looked for the schedule of forms.
The head office schedule of forms. The numbers run to two hundred and nineteen.
The handover form is number one hundred and forty-one.
There is no form of that number. The schedule has only the number and the name.
At twenty to ten I looked for what I was given when I took the post.
There were no handover papers.
There was a notebook in the drawer. Nobody explained it.
At the foot of page sixty-two there is a sentence and it is cut off.
It is cut before the words close. There is no ink where it would continue.
At ten I looked back at the log for the sixth month of the year I took the post.
It says I continued that cut-off sentence in my own hand.
What I continued is one line.
I did not enter it then as a handover. I entered it as a margin entry.
At twenty past ten I looked back at what I was told in February.
If there is none, make one, he said.
I wrote then that making is not this room's work.
In April I made a compiler field. In August I entered an imprint. In September I named an article.
Three things made.
At twenty to eleven I decided to make the handover form.
There is no circular before it.
That number one hundred and forty-one does not exist is not a basis. A thing being absent is not an instruction to make it.
From twenty past eleven to one I set up the fields.
I took the form on page sixty-three of the notebook as the model. It had five heads.
That was in my hand too.
I set up six.
What has been done this far, what is to come next, the places where the counts do not agree, the entries whose time is not remembered, the one receiving, the one handing over.
Five became six. The same figure as when the fields went from five to six at the end of January.
At one I filled the first field.
Seven articles. Seven impressions. Five registered materials, with six under application.
At twenty past one I filled the third field.
I counted the margin entries by month.
Three in March, four in April, one in May, two in June, two in July, three in August, two in September, three in October.
Twenty.
They do not fit on one sheet. I attached an annex.
There is no procedure for attaching an annex, so I wrote that in the margin.
It became twenty-one.
At two I filled the fourth field.
Three. Two in May and one in October.
At twenty past two I filled the second field.
I copied out the one line from page sixty-four of the notebook.
Counted this far. The next is eight.
I wrote it twice and matched it.
The same.
At twenty to three I set down that they were the same.
For eight months everything I copied out diverged.
In September eleven pages did not diverge. That was copied by someone else.
Today I copied it and it did not diverge.
There is no box for entering that a thing did not diverge.
At three I filled the sixth field.
I entered a name.
The name I put in the compiler field in April.
It is the second time in this room that I have entered my own name of my own will.
At twenty past three I looked at the fifth field.
The one receiving.
There is none.
There was nobody who handed over to me either. The notebook was in the drawer.
I left it blank.
At four I gave the form a number.
I entered number one hundred and forty-one.
A form went into a place that had a number and no form.
I did not amend the schedule. Amending the schedule is not this room's work.
At twenty past four I considered again whether to give the notebook a title.
Given one it is registered. Registered, it becomes the eighth material.
That line in the notebook says the next is eight.
If I give it one, the line comes true.
Giving it one in order to make it true is not a basis.
I did not.
At half past four I opened the right-hand material.
Five hundred and twenty-two pages. The date on the page gained is the twenty-ninth of November of ninety-eight.
My log is also on its five hundred and twenty-second page today.
At twenty to five I counted the days left.
The right-hand material gains one page a day.
From the twenty-ninth of November to the sixteenth of December is seventeen days.
That date has been confirmed five times in this room. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, twenty-four, thirty-four and thirty-seven.
The sixth is seventeen days away.
The date for processing the amendment to the combining is that day.
At five I opened the box.
Seven articles. Seven impressions. The two hundred and fiftieth day.
At ten past five I looked at the sixth box.
Three thousand five hundred and fifty-three.
At twenty past five I ran off the query record. The set's row was opened thirty-three times yesterday. Eighteen by the imprint route.
At half past five I opened page two hundred and twenty-nine.
There is one blank line.
It has been blank since last December.
The notebook's blank page was filled five days ago.
At twenty to six I lifted the form to close it.
Lifting it I looked at the fifth field.
It is not blank.
There are eight characters.
They are Latin.