You mean well, but pity —especially pity spread ‘round freely and generously— only heaps hot coals of shame upon my head. Do you know that? Do you know it in secret? Are there small fragments of vengeance in your recruitment of others’ sympathies on my behalf? Do you find any small, sour joys in spreading word of my illness and misfortune? Do you hope for my well-being or does my squirming give you pleasure—for those you send my way in the name of comfort make me squirm with false attention, false concern, and pity; bad weather friends may be just as bad as those of fairweather; when only bad weather brings them near do they not come for a lightning show, just to observe this present storm of mine from underneath their own shelter? ‘Oh how bad the thunder there, oh how wet the rain that falls!’ I need not soaked twice—the once will do, and learn to dance in the rain, to will it even. Then you may come with your truest intentions, to watch my show; but instead of gloom and tragedy, a tragic comedy I will perform for you. Yes, come and watch me dance.