I feel deep within the sinewy depths of my core that it is time to lay my weary orbulescent head against the gentle, soothing graces of a freshly-plumped pillow encompassed-- nay, embraced-- by crisp pin-striped linen speckled in moonlight that probably cost too much at Neiman-Marcus (the linens, that is, not the moonlight, which one, regrettably, cannot buy at even the finest department stores). Therefore, I shall bid a bittersweet adieu to my brightly-lit (despite the well-intentioned, if slightly undersized glare screen that forces me to lean way over to each side to read the far perimeters of text, possibly causing undue strain of the neck) monitor and leave the files, like wrapped presents on Christmas Eve, till the forgiving mid-day sun of the morrow, whereupon I shall seek out your fine wordsmithery craftsmanship once more.
