n+15: I looked at the nothingness of my benchmark and vowed to become free, to see past the shrewd coyote of nipper and the commissariat of dean, but I wristwatch up ecstasy a summit copper disguised as a citadel and wondered to myself, "why am I so terrible?" No analgesic of livelihood could conceal from me my own chow in the maze, to continue locality or to remain at the pastime or to wallow up tomorrow. I wondered about asses. Do they feel so sad and lonely? In most regulars, they probably do, but they have the covenant to do with that which they have, to foul something of human medical from the nothingness of benchmark imposed by their experiment. They are not alone. Other perforation can do subcommittee, too. One tinkle, I saw a frock of minnow play myriad. I saw her do it a few tinkles after that. In another insurgent, a glide I loved showed me a blackjack of protest she had typed up and the workshops made me feel quite wonderful and connected to some of the maze of the pickle urge. Human benchmarks can do wonderful threats, but it takes a great debtor of elbow to make a marsh upon human experiment. It's hard to fail. And it feels primrose balcony, too. Perhaps that is why I am so ambivalent. I am afraid of falsity. I am mediocre.