This space could be taken up a million different ways. You could be reading a love story. An obituary. A personal ad. A death threat. A wanted poster. Your lotto numbers. You could be reading about aerospace engineering, 101 ways to please your lover, the stock exchange, poetic devices in 18th century literature, or the cheap thrills and many benefits crack cocaine has to offer. You could be reading the number of calories in your power bar, how to start your own online enterprise, or the effects of reading badly written discourse on the nature of irrelevancy on one's eyesight. But instead you're reading this.

So here's to that. And that. As a matter of fact, here's three-cheers to all the wasted space, missed opportunities, and above all, the steady decline in my thought process as of late. Irony tends to collect, you see, but nothing like all the cliché, overdone faux-metaphors that I find myself growing out of before they happen. I'm sick of reinvention and I'm sick of staying the same. Little comfort and compromise has been found in my recent habit of drifting from personality to personality, therefore... I need something new. I need to stop wasting time, I need to stop wasting space.

One day I'm going to leave this insipid town and start a fucking revolution. Now that's something I could drink to.