So, it has come to this at last.

I find solace in quotations. You see, although I love the search for knowledge, the mystery of new discoveries, and the improvement of ones mind, I am, alas, not the most diligent student there ever was. I lack ambition and drive. Those terms are, to me, crass and vulgar, though they should not be, as they are what propel the motors of science and industry. To my unrefined mind they lack certain... playfulness. The quest for knowledge of oneself, the universe and everything should, above all, be FUN.
This train of thought led me to despair. Was I less intelligent, because I lacked the will to enforce my views and disputations on others? Joy of joys, good old Albert Einstein came thundering to the rescue, with easy to remember quotes, for young and old to enjoy!

"Knowledge is what remains, after one has forgotten what he has learned at school."

-Albert Einstein

See? Not a word-for-word quotation I'll grant you, but close enough and it delivers the joyful message for all to revel in.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

I am Twenty Four years of age, as of yesterday. This makes today monday the 13th, for another two minutes at least. I have quite recently imbibed an entire bottle of white wine by myself. Which, under normal circumstances, would by no means be extraordinary, should you but look two years into my past. But these days alcohol is no longer a frequently committed transgression of mine, in fact it has been... well, obviously not years since I have been drunk, but months does not quite suffice, narratively speaking. Although it is, if you take your fourth dimension seriously, absolutely correct... It lacks that certain something. Ages, although a grossly misused term in this day and age, must suffice. Ah, what would we do, were it not for the Americans and their abominable use of slang? This I ask of you.
I am, to put it in other words, slightly drunk. Inebriated, if you will. The entire family has been bedridden for the better part of a week now, and, quite frankly, I asked the permission of my wife to get drunk. It sounds so much crasser in writing than it did when transmitted by tongue and larynx to soundwaves... oh well, nothing perfidious about it, I assure you. As I have just spent a bit over and hour and a half singing my youngest child to sleep, I do not feel remiss in my parental, nor my spousal duties. The entire household sleeps soundly. I was the first to be infected by the malignant virus carried by our oldest from his Kindergarten to our unsuspecting home, and Cecilie nursed me for two days, until she herself contracted said most infectious disease.
Prelude from suite for Lute in G minor.
Now it is her time to sleep, and regain a measure of health. Alas, I am not fully restituted as of yet, my sickly disposition no doubt being the product of unhealthy living and lack of sleep.

The point of this particular textular escapade eludes me, it will not emerge, and so I abandon you, dear reader, to the static oblivion of the interminable internet once again. Join me next time for further regressions into my teenage years, or quite possibly to learn of my newest plan for world domination. Allegro.