4 Years of Solitude

My dearest mother, It hath been twenty fortnights since I hath arrived hencehere at this place of manner, Ye Olde Orange. The sentiment of dissatisfaction in this here place of dwelling is immense. I imagine this sense hath dissipated in your abode, yet my aches for home do not quell. I find myself longing for the familiar dark depths of our boudoir, and the ghosts that lie therein, Saturlarius, Angelique, and Frederick. Oh, agony! How I wish I could returneth. I hath indebted myself into, in meager terms, many more years of this misery: Einstein's Bagels(though this must be for ye jollocks!) the musty stench of Demille Hall, and seeing those who I hath pursued in the Piazza(these endeavors of our boudoir, and the ghosts that lie therein, Saturlarius, Angelique, and Frederick were meekly abandoned, although I continue to feel a kinship with a certain Ye Olde English Literature major). Our absolute leader, Danielle Struppa, hath stated that I am a pigeon-livered floozer, a flapdoodle, due to my desire to entrench myself in the study of the theatrical arts and my prolonged stay under his rule. Pity!