The Whimsical Circumlocutor

It’s been a horrendously long time since I wrote for pleasure, my time being occupied writing scholarly passages with content that was utter baloney and engaging in a pagan worship ritual, It Which Must Not Be Named, but operates under various aliases, the most popular being Calculus, Algebra and the worst, their combined form, Mathematics. I have borne the brunt of the storm (the dreaded school-leaving exams), going in as a terrified, eighteen year old mess (the result of a month and half’s preparation) and emerging at the end as a weather-beaten, slightly less terrified, eighteen-years-and a-month old mess. All in all, it’s been a good long haul, but I digress.

It was the thought of my turning into a jobless, penniless and most importantly, worthless adult or worse, a saleswoman, that sobered me up and spurred me into action. As much as the notion of wandering the high seas…

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