Moving is a Female Dog

I've finally moved into my new castle. Granted i'm in the basement, and some of you more critical and bitter (most likely because you were an orphan who was seduced by a kindly whore who by an unlucky turn of events turned out to be a violent tease) readers may scoff at the idea of a castle owner living in her own basement, but i bet you'd scoff less if i told you i sleep on a mattress made entirely of rare peacock feathers covered in egyptian cotton.

Now then. To the matter at hand. Drinking half a bottle of wine while watching a Shakespeare adaptation that your more....let's say sophisticated...roommate ordered on netflix may lead to great introspection and questioning of everything you thought you knew. Who is this merchant of Venice and why is his daughter such a bitch? Would i too steal my father's jewels and run away with my lover, leading to the humiliation of my father's name and the potential loss of a man's life? I was sure i would before, but after watching this film, i'm not as confident in my ability...nay, desire...to sacrifice my family for my own selfish ambitions. In short, mixing Shakespeare and alcohol is a bad idea...unless you enjoy getting into heated discussions that cause your friends to get pissed and walk out abruptly, too put-off to take their cell-phones or wash the dishes with which they cooked you dinner.

All this revisiting of recent history has made me exhausted and as the butler has just informed me that the feathers have been ruffled to my liking and the egyptian cotton has been thrice (way better than just two times...trust me) pressed, i bid you goodnight.