Are you sitting comfortably? Not that I care whether you are or not . . . not that is though that I wish you discomfort; I was just being polite. Well if that's my version of politeness, you might say . . .
Well no, this, that is the above, my explanation, my excusing of myself, so to speak, was really just laziness, lack of effort, some kind of shorthand for the sake of convenience - not that it's proving very convenient - and I suppose instead I better try to be more accurate, more a servant in the interest of truth - not that I'm looking to be such a servant. Can you imagine someone describing himself as such . . . "I am a servant in the interest of truth" - the shamelessness of it . . . or perhaps the stupidity . . . or maybe both. It would be like coming out with a book called "The Audacity of Hope."
Picture yourself standing there, in front of your publisher, your publisher to be:
"I've written a book."
"Right, right. What's it about?"
"It's about myself, my struggle."
"Your struggle. And have you a title?"
"'I have. It's called 'The Audacity of Hope.'"
Anyway, whatever about that kind of audacity, I was trying to explain myself, why I began as I began with the polite question about the sitting, only it wasn't politeness . . . but who cares what it was! It was a beginning, a gaining of momentum, a prelude . . .
But, and here's the sadness, when you come back to it maybe it really was politeness after all . . . only I couldn't carry it off and the waves of irony broke out. It didn't take them long. And so whatever this might have turned out to be, this is what it is instead. Not that it however could hardly be called a tragedy.