But the wait was so worth it.

The pipes and its angry hot tears against my bare shoulders, like the scorn of a volcano and the wrath of the sun, folded me into its arms and taught me a lesson. It told me gently, like an angel, that self-pity was unhealthy and inconsequential and that nobody would pick up the pieces if I refused to notice the detail in its design. I should not, nay, will not be malleable to the ways of the world. They don't understand, they can't. And even if they did, even if I explained it to them, they wouldn't have the right words and they wouldn't care enough to find the words, find the answers. The right ones, the best ones. And I don't want to be discouraged because of it, because of them, Lord. I don't want to piss and moan, don't want to not be able to smile and tell them that I'm fine. I don't want that kind of attention because that's infamy but I'm a Christian.

Christians. I answered the survey like a Christian. I "strongly agree" that I'm currently happy more often that I'm sad. I "strongly disagree" that I believe that more bad things happen to me than good things. We document the bad indelibly and lose track of the good, so shame on me for feeling sorry for myself but I couldn't bring myself to be honest because I knew what I expected from myself and even if I didn't believe it, the surveyor would.

Telling me to have more confidence doesn't make my confidence increase. Telling me why I should have more confidence should work, you would think, but yeah, it's the end of week three and I'm still getting there.

.