I can …

… hear you ask yourself, “Why is he writing this blog when it could compromise his hiding place?” It’s because I think it’s important to to write it all down and somehow validate my new life by confessing the old. Confession has long been a tool of the Church and of psychoanalysts, a tool intended to straighten out the guilty. I really fell in to this serious mess as a result of a few minor sins that people perpetrate on a daily basis with impunity, and these mistakes took place at widely spaced moments.

  • When I defied the company firewall in order to participate in that forum;
  • When I accepted a bogus reference to get a job;
  • When I lent Melancthe, whom I trusted and to whom I owed a favour, my username and password.

Of course, this is the essence of tragedy. One little frailty is followed by another and another until the victim is sucked into an impossible situation.

Sir Walter Scott: “Oh what a wicked web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

Thanks a bunch, Walt. Where were you last year?

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