Call me Minithi. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse (or anywhere else for that matter) , and nothing particular to interest me on my drab daily routine, I thought I would surf about a little and see the more fascinating part of the Internet.

 It is a way I have of driving off the monotonity, and regulating the nimble mind. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the hand; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before high school drama queens, contemplating how to pick a bitch fight, and bringing up the rear of every clique I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the atmosphere and off a cliff, and methodically knocking people's hats off --

THEN, I account it high time to get to a good book as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to wattpad judging.