The diagnostic specialist returns
The diagnostic specialist returns the next day with several suitcases, duffel bags and a large trunk. He says he is moving in and plans to observe me.
Oh, I have done this before, I say. I am good at this, I say, but I am not sure he believes me.
I fill the tub with ice
Climb in, I tell the diagnostic specialist. It is nice. Comfortable. Comforting. Safe. Climb in, I say. And of course he does. Who can resist a tub filled with ice and water? Certainly no gentleman. Certainly no one of discerning taste and this diagnostic specialist has discerning tastes. He has the diplomas and certificates to prove he has discerning tastes. He carries them with him in a rolling suitcase. Each one is framed and gold plated. Each one sparkles. The ones he likes the most are coated in a thin layer of glitter.
I create diplomas and certificates for myself
Congratulations, they say. In bright letters. Bold letters. Letters that can be seen from several miles away even if you are underwater and even if you are blind and even if you have been dead for many years. Congratulations!
I fashion the diplomas and certificates into a small dress
The dress is so small that I cannot wear it, but I carry it places and strangers admire it. These strangers think I have a daughter or a small pet that would fit into this dress. These strangers are not intelligent because all the daughters and small pets have gone away. I do not know where they are and these strangers do not know where they are. But there are assumptions in place. These assumptions make everyone uncomfortable and I destroy the dress in a way that is maybe saving the world.