I was going to call you. I stared at my phone while puttering about, but never really found the balls to pick it up and ring you. I’m glad you liked the music, I am. You sounded despondent when I talked to you last, that’s why I didn’t call you. Not that it’s your fault; you and I both know that’s not true, I just want to explain why I’m acting defensive. I hope you haven’t decided to be noble, weak, or defeated. I’m going to turn into a real wretch soon, I can feel it, I know myself well enough to predict it. Take this as an official premature apology.