1. My luck has been as insufficient as it usually happens to be. I arrived at the assembly station at a regrettably later hour, and it seems my lot for the service has been cast accordingly. The entrance offizier appears to have deliberately made my entrance noticeable, if only to start me off on the wrong note with my fellows.  

No surprises. I have no doubts as to the contents of the file the man has read before I arrived. I cannot imagine it contained an excess of flattering adjectives, can I?

Despite their probable assumptions, I don't hate the call up. For me to complain to others that I've been forced into this profession would be a tarnished truth. I mean - perhaps unconsciously? We know so very little of each other, and barely more of ourselves. Everything word I speak to others, my actions around them and my apparent personality itself are never truly mine. To the last glimmer of thought put into them, they're influenced, molded, in many ways created by those other than myself. I am not myself. None of us really are.

My mind wanders ceaselessly these days. Again, I simply cannot fathom the logic of my mind. In my final moments of freedom, perhaps even of life, depending on how my tour goes at least, my mind is swimming. There's no sense to be made, yet, in a way . . .

I suppose it's comforting to spend my final moments as close as I can to being myself.    

~