Another Arsday, another missed deadline. Another one of my colleagues has been sent home. It would seem that Bishop De Borel’s expectations are too much for many. Yet with each of their failings, those of us who have proven ourselves capable are only burdened with more work. The forty pages of our first week do not compare to the eighty we must complete by next Arsday. Even this amount of work would be of little consequence, were the manuscripts written by a person who cared about consistency, organization, or grammar. Alas, our task cannot be so simple.
Yet even as our assignments grow greater in complexity and in size, it seems as though my peers are spending no more time at work than before. It seems that they would rather wile away the hours playing games or chasing juvenile fancies rather than handling our project with any level of professionalism. Even whilst they work, they congregate together, making merry and chatting. They rise late and retire early. I know not how any of them manage to meet the deadlines. Yet Mister Lamperos, at least, manages to do so regularly. Perhaps they are using him to expedite their own portions’ translations. It is not my concern. I cannot allow their indolent behavior to impede my own work.
Mister Lamperos continues to avoid me. I have made it easier for him by rising an hour early each morning, lest I offend him when he visits our room to tidy himself. I do not know who it is he is seeing past curfew, but contrary to my apparent reputation, I see no need to report such behavior. How Mister Lamperos chooses to conduct himself is his own business, and he seems to be the only one of my peers who possesses any level of competence.