You know what's sad? There's a rather suddenly-discovered giant bruise on my upper thigh. We're talking about the colour purple here, and not in a core literature sort of way. Curse that bugger of a telly stand which stood so still and sharp-cornered in the darkness! I'd practically lay money on the idea that it was lying in wait for me and my upper thigh, and I have since been eyeing the sharp corners of my walls with suspicion. And don't even think that I can't see you sitting over there, coffee table, whistling in that tunelessly wooden way. Your innocent furniture act doesn't fool me anymore.

You know what's sadder? Inspiration has been so hard to come by and college has so very much bitten the big one lately that I haven't scribbled anything for over a month. My most sincere apologies to all you poor, huddled masses of ardent fans (yearning to breathe free, no doubt) out there in this bleak virtual wonderland. However, for all you slackerly, not-so-ardent fans who've arbitrarily decided that I've fallen into the black lagoon forevermore and thus you have no further need of ardent fanning, well, how do you like these apples? Your innocent disloyal act doesn't fool me anymore.

In short, oh thou of nutshells dear? My webbish pen hath new ink, and my scribbles shall be newly fire-bred. And we press on -- for tiredness is unending, and purple thighs are the new black.