But no. A false start. I just don�t have it in me, kats and kitties. If I were in Sherezade�s shoes, my number�d be up. Peeking up my sleeve, there�s no vitriolic diatribe about some minor inconveniencing blip of nothingness that will never, ever truly effect my life with any consequence whatsoever no matter how much I inflate its importance by bitching about it until it�s a deader horse. Nope. All I�ve got is vacation-a-go-go excitement building by degrees here at work which probably feels like sitting in a meeting and needing to keep a straight face while an under-the-table hand creeps naughtily up your inner-thigh with titillating urgency. (Do I need to experience this sensation?) I am charged on all fronts�I am chain-smoking in frenetic bursts of hapless and misplaced expectation. I�m looking forward to the past. Again. How can that disappoint? Yes, go and find out how reading Proust can change your stupid life too.