Making use of my hindsight even though I can by no means call it robust, and finally composing something free of venom while drunk, which is totally incomprehensible to me, which is about the biggest breakthrough in personal discovery I can think of, which is why I make use of the qualified superlative before I think of anything else, except I knew I was living in a hornets nest because I had reached the level of self-control that I could go to strip clubs and only drink.
I would that I could avoid talking about Miss Question-Mark-Maiden, but with my projects starting to gain traction, which requires one to contemplate the word glacial, she, and no doubt her friend, organized a birthday party for herself and invited most of the office.
I give this as a word of warning to business owners who think that they may ignore the influences behind historic events, or let insults run off their back like water: thus insulted, the office split into two factions.
My personal projects involved the replacement of systems without anyone knowing, which is how we're supposed to do things: the fan-fare has two settings.
People who wake up not knowing where the fuck they are, and but thankful when they find a familiar road which gives them the information that they didn't get taken to another town or country in the night, are unlikely to get excited about things like Egg-Sgml. My feelings about it can only be described as a stay of execution, which ended when a stripper and a friend of hers tried to kidnap me. This happened after the birthday party, and after I had found that the prettiest things in a well-known nightclub might dispense with the formalities and start the conversation with that of how much you're willing to pay.
Such invasions are dealt with, but in a fashion which suggest they might have been prevented had there been a will. I am simply presenting a chain of events which are only connected by the fact of my presence. Post hoc ergo propter hoc is a mantra used to put away curiosity.
Some suggest that sex changes are that good that things for sale might be girl-boys. Call me sexist, but I don't think such a person could sit carelessly with no underpants in a crowded nightclub.
I came to regret not taking up the offer of naming a figure. Which description of the condition I spent the remaining years of my employment hopefully sufficiently describes why stopping the fanfare permanently is not a humble request.
I must humbly request that whether I've said too much or too little, my instructions are taken for what they are, and not later looked at as evidence of desire.