It's a good problem to have, I mused internally, practicing my pleasant attitude.
It is my job to be polite and courteous when declining the demon and reclaiming my sense of intelligence and righteousness, reserved only for myself.
It's a table for one, and if I am unclear, it's because I still can't decide if I have enough meat on my bones.
I've been licking your spoons and waiting for you to drop science in my lap.
However, I've been changed, my blue jeans are dress slacks now.
I will choose my own problems, and if you give me yours, I will offer you my decoder ring, so you too can see the forest through the trees and build your own life.
It's not about independence, that would be too simple, and it's a theory from a document written by slave owners anyways, so I am not giving salt to that Roman Army, not today, and not ever.
Nope, it's a clean line from impressionism to the daylight in your eyes.