But why does such a trivial thing consume so much thought? If one is to write off existence, then it must be based on something deeper than this. Society, I am led to believe, sees it as a pronouncement on your character; this, under the bluster and sickening sanctimony that occupies most discourse, seems a deeply regressive view. Not that there is nothing that can be gleaned about one's character from this, of course. But to champion this as a mark of achievement over any endeavour under the Sun seems most bizarre.

So I've failed at this challenge. So what? There are many more where where I have shown no special expertise or proclivity. Why do these not fill me with shame, pin down my chest every morning, and leave me walking the street with a blank stare at the ground? (Ok, may be sometimes they do.) Is it the thought that this now is the one true incontrovertible proof that I do not belong amongst civilised society? It cannot be, because it is something I've known all too well for years. It seems better to simply chalk up another failure, and focus on the few remaining endeavours where I have some hope yet.