In sort-of a frak all kind of mood.
I find myself weary - weary, maybe wary, of that particular slice of the thousand natural shocks that occupies my head.
Viddy that. I am entrenched. Incensed. Does my disarray, my discontent, make me malprop of la vie? To what?
I say, without remorse or contempt --- really and truly --- frak all that. Frak all, for sake of all --- 'tis oft one's place to play the prop, but ne'er shall it be that prop serves place and soul, bare.
Strange yet true.
And as for you, friend poured and friend standing most faithful guard --- thanks most kindly for your sentry. For your gentry, thanks.
Mes pensees ses presses vers toi ---