Why do I…Because I was chosen, directed, selected by the Fates.
How else to account for the stubborn pride with which I do what I do, and do not what I will not?
How else to account for the hurt and sadness and neglect andâ€¦â€¦which my work can sustain as it involutes upon itself?
And then it justifies itself â€“ to me – all over again. Why? Ask the Fates!
But right now, it feels very good and requires less justifying â€“ to me.
Guilt, conscience, afraid not to come up to the promise that the others claimed for me?
Or did I take upon my self a certain task? Whatever. Yesâ€¦and Yes.
It never seemed very clear, except that I wished to play upon the edges of knowledge, and chose the route that appeared just when I was looking.
Or did I want to appear smart? Profound? This term had no meaning for me, then; maybe begins to, now. But…the Fates!
What a justifying, what a tale to tell my self. A way to tell my self I am humble, a practitioner of the trade I seek to determine, and as arrogant as that humility can sustain.
Not pride; not vanity. I just want it to be right; to see through the masks of fear and terror, past the ugly and the beautiful. Now disciplined, toughened, justified by the sure knowledge that the Fates have sought me as I search for them.
And you? Where are your Fates?