We're part of a secret society, you see. Why am I telling you? Because I'm not very good at being in a secret society. If I was in your secret society, I'd be much better.

There is much to think about. Much to debate. Ideas to take out and battle behind the old philosophy shed.

Many things. 

There is still a sense of loss. Of old injury that will never heal. It hurts less, though, and that is useful. Or perhaps the pain is the same, and I'm just bigger?

I can help people, I think. I forget that sometimes. I talked to my mom the other day. I'm sure she needs my help with something. My dad can do some stuff, but I'm still the strong one in the family. Surely something heavy needs to be moved about.

Bah. Bah I say. Not just me; the whole secret society says it. Bah! Like a sheep with a bit of congestion. Little bit of cud stuck in the old craw.