Jane Austen’s 21st Birthday Haul
It has been a fair sight since I have made a video, has it not? I beg of you, do not expect these videos to arrive till they come, in which I think will only contribute to the ease of us both. Which is to say, welcome, I suppose. This is my channel. Where I talk about nothing of any possible importance.
You may have noticed a dark cloud about me this eve. That merely shows that you are observant. My dearest sister, Cassandra, the artist of such talent that Rembrandt himself would approach her for apprenticeship, were he still alive and possessing of common sense that appears to be absent of the males of the species, she has noticed it as well, which is why she bade me to once again post a video, in the hopes that such a cloud might be lifted. It was indeed my birthday as of late, so why not discuss the various items that were given as reward for not yet finding a way to completely and utterly end this all too extended existence.
We’ll see if such an occurrence happens next year. I begin already to find my morals corrupted.
Let us see…among my gifts we have…garbage, trash, refuse. This piece of garbage came from my mother. This piece of garbage came from Gadston, and I suppose I should not be surprised, given his previous history. I once again received money from Grandmamma, which I will no doubt spend on garbage of my own choosing. And this…well, I have been meaning to throw this into the dustbin, as it is proper garbage. It was given to me by my Irish Friend, just before he departed, and it belongs somewhere deep and dark where I may never look upon it again.
I have not yet been able to bring myself to place it in such an appropriate receptacle. And now it is awfully tearstained, so I cannot even gift it again. Who would want such a salt-encrusted thing? Not even I, and yet, I cannot be without it.
There was no party this year. Oh, there was a plans for a party, make no mistake, but I decided against it, quite firmly, brooking no counter-argument. I suppose I should explain. My Irish Friend informed me that not only shall he not be able to attend my gathering, but any future gathering is completely out of the question, as he has left for London to become a barrister, of all things. He shall not return. And so there will be no parties. Not on my account.
My sister Cassandra thinks this is foolish. I think she is foolish. So, you may choose which is correct.
There is a report that my Irish Friend is going to be married to a Lichfield lass. I know nothing of her, but I can only imagine it will be a horrible match, and lead them to early graves of misery. There is simply no other alternative.
There are many an apple-cheeked gentleman who comes to the house, and while none are as persistent as Gadston, quality must count for something. William called here yesterday. I wonder what he means by being so civil? In any case, I shall soldier on. I am 21 years of age, after all. An auspicious age, if there ever was one.
That is all I have to say. Like, subscribe, to what you will.
I miss you, Tom.
Jadzia Axelrod is an author, an illustrator, and a world changer. Throughout her eventful life she has also been a circus performer, a puppeteer, a graphic designer, a sculptor, a costume designer, a podcaster and quite a few other things that she’s lost track of but will no doubt remember when the situation calls for it.She is the writer and producer of “The Voice Of Free Planet X” podcast, were she interviews stranded time-travelers, low-rent superheroes, unrepentant monsters and other such creature of sci-fi and fantasy, as well as the podcasts “Aliens You Will Meet” and “Fables Of The Flying City.” The story started in “Fables Of The Flying City” is concluded in The Battle Of Blood & Ink, a graphic novel published by Tor.She is not domestic, she is a luxury, and in that sense, necessary.