I, Genevieve, having essentially ended my higher education in a most felicitous manner, now begin my journey, predisposed to the makings of a classical adventure. The ceremonious rite of hats and gowns, I feel, have prepared me to take on a world, where the majority of difficult people will perhaps be wearing hats or gowns. However dubious this supposition, I must confess that the impeding future weighs on my mind like a mole of honey combs; potentially delicious but assuredly messy and fraught with annoyed annelids. Alas, Constance is little help, having once again turned back to her life as a gypsy accountant. So I go alone into the inky dark espresso of time.... to be hosted by the fickle, Mrs. Cleaver like, domesticity of fate.
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