Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: What goes slow, should go fast, but it doesn't. Had a tooth pulled, it was a fast one. And then it released pain, instead of releasing of it. And that was a slow one.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: Something other is pulled together with the tooth. Like what? Fear of pain. The pain I tried to push far from me, I pulled closer by having the tooth pulled.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: Something changed inside me. First, the pain doesn't go fast, it goes slowly. Second, what is slow and not fast? Waiting. Patience is the patient's best friend.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: All suffering is becoming. But what am I becoming? Ah, get off my cloud of unknowing.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: I trust this virtual paper to pull something out of me.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: No matter, sure to be unsure. There's some surety in that. And delicate? Oh, that'll stick around.

Delicately unsure of myself, he thought. But he wrote: Something's pulling at my intestines. They know, but they can't tell yet. Or have they done just that? Sounds like, you've been pulling one on yourself.