It Occurred to Me in My Tub Just Now....

as I was soaking in the blessed heat and breathing in the steam like the Cumaean Sibyl that I so clearly am...

I had an epiphany.

I realized that if Emily Dickinson had a blog she would be a fucking insufferable bitch.

Think about it.

A blog and internet confrontation would have been a perfect match for her agoraphobic intensity, just the thing she needed when she had to pen the saddest letter in American literary history:

"Carlo died.

E. DICKINSON.

Would you instruct me now?"

(And note the unsubtle pity-manipulation there. You go, grrrrl!)

She would have just powered up and rechanneled it all into the comment boxes.

You weren't really fooled by that "My Preceptor" form of address in her letters, were you?

Trust me, one bad girl can always spot another.

She was no angel. She just didn't have good playa mobility.