In the past I stole many things, and now I think I understand the way of the world, as year by year is stolen from me, whatever it is that I might do. For if I had never stolen, I would hardly think of it in this way, of time being taken from my helpless hands, but as we sow, thus we reap. And now all I can reconcile with myself is that I am deserving of such punishment, where time is a thief that steals itself. Like my helpless victims, however much they were (sometimes) faceless corporate entities, now as it is I who am deprived of costly things: as a divine and poetic retribution, myself am I able to perceive what is being taken, so so precious, and can do nothing but see that this is merely justice being done. This is my cross to bear, now I understand. And even this: we are to count it all joy.