Life’s a tough Mistress sometimes. She has this habit of tossing me into a cauldron, melting me down, then moulding me into something subtly different than I was before. It’s the melting down stage I’m none too keen on; it’s a bit hot and suffocating.
She’s been doing it most of my life, but over the last thirteen years she’s been getting more uppity about it. She must think I can take it or something. She’s even started using people with appropriate names as agents these days. Clever, eh?
So, is my understanding of what’s important better now than it was thirteen years ago? I have no idea.
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