As the ever passive aggressive winds of the northern land masses make their crucially deafening way to the southern regions, the birds are reminded it is time to once more travel upstate where they can wear their dragon-embroidered flannel hoodies without the local populace asking them to leave whichever independently owned coffee shops they were practicing their axe sharpening skills at.
I, too, am reminded that yet another chapter of my life has ended and another awaits my undivided, passionate attention. Unlike the half Canadian, fully blind, and completely void of social skills love child I fathered during my attendance of the second annual Reptile Enthusiast Festival, I plan to do my very best to ensure that this new chapter of my life is given the utmost medical and emotional care that the law and my conscience enforce.
But what does this new chapter truly mean? Will I be redefining myself? Will my canned goods go out of date and require replacement? Am I going to need to go to the DMV and renew or update some form of identification? At this time, it would be unintelligent and impractical to make any guesses no matter how informed they may or may not be.
If you should take anything from this well structured, poem like arrangement of phrases, it is this: there is no telling how long the line at the DMV will be tomorrow and Canadian reptile enthusiasts, though extremely attractive, do not make satisfactory spouses.