You might as well live

It's the Melbourne universities exam season and I'm facing a particularly tough year.

Blogging will resume after November 15, assuming my brain isn't melted by then.

I leave you with a poem by the incomparable Dorothy Parker who has provided me with much dark amusement over the years. This is one of her longer poems; most of her pieces are simple, pithy, short and dagger sharp. For a good example of her poetry and possibly reasons I relish it so much scroll down a little further and read the piece that I'm really fond of.

Truly, there is no better entertainment while struggling with morass of contradictions that is the Law.

Symptom Recital

I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the simplest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick. I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I'm due to fall in love again.

Résumé

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Am so going to turn into a muttering old singleton/witch with many black cats around. Anyone need an extra for Macbeth, just call me. I'll even provide my own hooked nose.