Chien, or my understanding of it,is my obstruction. This difficulty, by definition,is impassible. Without a mirror,eyes cannot see themselves; a storycannot write its own ending; after a suicide,both the loved and the hatedmay continue to comment on the reasonsor lack of them. The irresistible missilehits the indestructible wall again, and, funny thing,the missile isn’t irresistible. Therefore,as though logic had any pertinence,we examine our premises, retrace our steps,pretending that a life can be reorderedby force of will, cut again like a deck of cardsto give us another chance. We know better.But we believe we learn from our mistakes.I bide my time, pulling myself together,letting time dissolve the blinders of experience,reconsidering “it happened to me,”as if I had any other choice.