So when my mom, my dad, and my sister don't understand what I write, plus some random people online, I think it's time to work on my prose style. Oh floral, beautiful, balanced periodic sentences, I shall miss you. My heart pours out to you. Oh abstruse metaphors -- if I can't turn my life into a wild conceit, what will I have to write about? I shall have to be...to be...to be...concise! Oh imagine a concise essay! Imagine concise reflections! Imagine not making references to abstruse literature! Oh Lord! I don't know if I can do it! And I might have to stop pretending to be a transcendentalist too! I might have to write about *gasp, hack, choke* THINGS THAT ACTUALLY HAPPEN TO ME. And then (and this is worst of all) PEOPLE MIGHT ACTUALLY READ MY WRITING!!! No more "must needs be" for me :-( *sniff* *tear*