Like the other important women in my life, I have been ignoring you, Ms. WordPress. (If you are a Mrs., you’ve guarded your secret well.) What can I blame? Work? I suppose. I take home my work every evening and every weekend. Next life: blue collar work. Scratch that. Next life: get born into an aristocratic family. My brilliance (or pretense to that effect) will be recognized early and will be nurtured by only the best classical education, fantastic trips around the world to Dazzling Place of Cultural Import, and a duty toward leisure. However, as things go the way of the flesh, I will squander my talents in decadent and riotous living through which I will cultivate an exquisitely sensitive yet profligate palate for the things and experiences of this world. Yet, as I world wearily roll with the pigs in their mire and shit, I will look up to the stars, renounce the illusion of sin, and tell myself that I need to return home to my father’s house. Perhaps, if I am so lucky, I will find a room among the servants’ quarters. Then, like Sebastian Flyte, I will embark upon a life of eccentric penance.
And you, my dear reader, now finish this short entry with as much information as you began it, but do you truly read this blog for information?