Thursday, March 02, 2006


My failure as a scientist has depressed me more than I'd care to admit. In light of my sobering deficiency in the discipline, I realised I had several options left open to me today:

1) Endeavour to master the Arts instead.
2) Remain in my stinking pit of a bed and sink ever further into melancholy.
3) Buy an Alsatian/Invent a new piece of punctuation.
4) Commit my body to the flames.

After the midday Neighbours, I settled upon the latter part of option three. I would create a new item of punctuation, one to rival the comma and the colon, and to capture some of the quiet dignity of the en rule. On this project I worked for many, many hours until I was oppressed with a slow fever and I became nervous to a most painful degree. Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone sustained me.

It was after the dreary teatime repeat of Neighbours that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. Below is the finished product - a glabback and its companion, a hurd-glabback:

How can I describe my emotions? How can I delineate the freakish punctuation which with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? I had desired this with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the punctuation I had created, I rushed out the room, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind.

Things appear bleak once more.

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