So the week started with Oscars and I wanted to blog about the panoply (first time usage!) of useless jobs I would exterminate the minute I took over the world. On my list was:

• Publicists – conniving manipulators whose sole raison d’être to is to insulate the rich and reckless never from the consequences of their actions. Never met anyone who wanted to be one when they grew up.
• Entertainment reporters – Vacuous. Fawning. Irrelevant.
• Lobbyists – Silver-tongued, calculating, soulless. They weren’t at the Oscars but worth a little *Grrr* anyway. How do you get anything done when everyone’s hands are so busy greasing palms and scratching backs?

Lord Byron, that word genius who wrote the saddest and bestest poem in the world was not talking about these people when he wrote I Would I Were a Careless Child :

I hate the touch of servile hands,
I hate the slaves that cringe around.

But he could’ve been

Then other stuff happened during the week and I decided to hold fire on my vitriol. Sort of. The stuff is not really bloggable but I started thinking about certainty. This week, one of my certainties, the thing that I knew would be the same first thing in the morning as it was last thing at night, forever and ever, turned out to be anything but sure. And the discovery shook me.

It really did unsettle me because you don’t spend 30 years (I’m 30, y’know) believing that x = x and then one day discover that x, in fact, = y and walk away from that unscathed. I am scathed, m’Lord. I am scathed to the very core.

So now we’re just down to death and taxes. And God.