Scorpio: The internet holds a fraction less charm for you this week; your forty-eighth favourite literary blogger has derelicted her posting duty, and only a mid-week apology appears in its usual concentric — Ikea ‘Gustav’ desk, black Apple MacBook screen, Mozilla Firefox, Google Reader — hull. ‘Can you employ ‘concentric’ when speaking of rectangular shapes,’ you ponder.
Even while you excogitate this mystery of meaning, you are not certain whether to be fatigued or merely bored by the insipid excuses she offers. Despite her vow that the swift pace of her life has resulted in such muddle-headedness that she has today mistaken both a plain notebook and a collection of Le Fanu stories for her diary, ‘Fie ‘pon her,’ you think, ‘Blogs are for posting.’
But while you may feel irritated to a minor degree for this transgression, you may also take comfort in the fact that the internet will surely fail. So buck up, rehearse your rendition of a favourite sonnet, and rejoice in the knowledge that strawberry ice-cream, at least, has survived to this golden age.