I felt like doing something stupid this birthday, a gift to me - I felt like getting myself a dangerous, dirty secret. And for twenty five seconds or so, it actually felt really good. An adrenaline rush, same taste as a hot summer touch. But I forgot one thing - that through the ages, my criteria has been so challenged, so refined, very few people can actually keep up. I don't make it easy for my circle. I disdain the bland. To expect anything from my previous life to live up to the wonders of my current life, that was wishfull thinking, poorly calculated. An echo full of taste. A happy ghost. A fantasy with inspiration stuck to it. I forgot that quite often, if you for some reason stop being impressed by something over time, that something is reduced to a pearly shell, a touch-it-and-it-will-crumble-in-your-fingers smallness indeed.