Imagine if you were born and then you went and had a stupid life and you were a big disappointment to everyone and you start gradually to realise that perhaps you’re just a failure, perhaps you weren’t actually destined to be a successful person and have a wonderful successful life. Maybe that’s what you are starting to realise. Maybe that’s how it is. Maybe, maybe. Maybe it’s your karma or maybe you’re just a bit of a dipstick? Which is it? Maybe it was your karma to be a dipstick. ‘Why aren’t I having a successful life?’ you want to know. Why is that? I did everything right didn’t I? You’re starting to feel angry. You’re starting to feel resentful. ‘I did everything right,’ you blurt out angrily, ‘so why is my life so crap? You’re aware of the cruel irony and that enrages you. It enrages you beyond measure. You’re about to have a rage attack. You can feel it coming on. Then you remember that you didn’t do anything right at all. You never did a single thing right. You actually did everything wrong. You had chance after chance and you screwed up every time. You remember that that is your superpower – to screw things up, even in cases when you wouldn’t have thought that it was possible. How do I do it, you wonder? How is it even possible, you ask? ‘How many chances was it that you got?’ your inner critic asks delicately. Your inner critic has got it too easy, right? Talk about making it easy for someone! My rage has disappeared now anyway. My rage has disappeared because I suddenly remembered that it’s all my fault! Quickly move on, quickly pretend that nothing has happened. Nothing to see here folks. Can you all please go home and quit gawping like fools? Quit gawping you damn rubbernecks. Quick gawping like morons and go home.’ My rage attack died before it even started – it never came to anything. It failed to deliver – a bit like me really, isn’t that what you’re thinking? A disappointment to all concerned. A disappointment to all concerned. I had all the opportunities, I’m quite aware of that. I had every chance. Do you know that very particular moment when you realise that the membrane of your sincerity has been stretched so very thin that it can’t actually be stretched anymore? It’s become a monomolecular layer that’s got no more ‘give’ in it – something like the membrane of a soap bubble or an oil slick on a wet road that’s reflecting all sorts of pretty rainbow colours. That’s what I’m like. That’s me. I’m a very thin membrane of sincerity that’s been stretched so far that it can’t actually stretch any more. I have lied so much and for so long that my lies aren’t even unbelievable to me anymore. I am a glove puppet for every dirty, low-down impulse there is. I am a vessel for every type of vile uncleanliness going. And yet I still go grasping after justifications. And yet I still go grasping after justifications…