φεύγω (pronounced something like pheugo): to flee. Source: my brain (which is composed of dusty ancient Greek dictionaries) and wiktionary.
I confide to you, dear friends, that I am running away. The nature of my journey is jointly leisurely and romantic. The destination? Some fancy island south from here. The duration? What us common folk who abide by the law of the hive call seven days, and what hyperboreans would call a lifetime. But is it a lifetime? Not really, for I'll be back 'next week', as they say. But it will feel like a lifetime, or at least I think it will.
I'll be bringing some light reading with me to prepare for school in September, and hopefully that will save this blog from what I fear is a future of sterility. While what I have been reading does engage me, there is something so honest and bonhomme about it that I cannot deal with. I need something more polemical, even if its a polemic launched from a familiar, all too familiar face. This is all expounded in the spirit of virtue. But not absolute virtue, for I think that might be part of the problem.
Well, here goes nothing.
