Cold. Cruel. Monstrous.
Such words have been used to describe my actions in the pursuit of my necessary work. Yet, when I think of the Sleeper and all of his siblings of the tube, what I truly feel is rueful compassion. Are we not born from the same axlotl tanks?
I shall regret causing death and misery to them.
I keep this benignity carefully hidden from my fellows. They would not understand. I find it easier to identify with the victim than with the attackers. To do what I do, with the excellence with which I do it, it must hurt a little. It must hurt every time.
It costs much to be authentic. One cannot be stingy with these things.