Blather

So anyway, here is the girl who does not know how to write; who was told, by her father, of the immature voice of the blogs he apparently unearthed, that they do not hold ---

So anyway, here also is the girl who smokes, who is afraid of cancer and yet drinks and smokes, most days abstaining, or drinking in moderation and the suddenly WHAPPAK! She looks up and the sky has turned blue.

So anyway, here again is the girl who tries to believe she is a woman (the word carries such a responsibility that she can never quite fulfill, she thinks, and because of that, she is ten years old in her head),

So anyway, here is, yet again, the girl who ---

So anyway, here is the drunken master girl who is master of dorkifying her esteem, or reputation into such embarrassingly infinitesimal proportions, being that "infinitesimal" is defined by Merriam Webster as "taking on values arbitrarily close to but greater than zero" and that now perhaps is her worth to the world because anyway, who's worth anything except maybe -- Bjork? or Thom Yorke?

So anyway, here is the girl who constantly endures herself and her blunders, who, maudlin, will shamelessly bare her confusion and constantly endure the regret, as if the act of baring was a drug.

So anyway, here she is. Happy Birthday.