I have failed in my duty two times in a week. No matter how much I do, it won't absolve me of the guilt that attaches willy-nilly to my grovelling self. I am paid to do my duty, yet I have failed. In samurai terms, it necessitates a harakiri, and I should have perished in the waters that I have loved for so long, or something else to that effect.
Yet, I am a biathlete now. Elation would have filled me if not for that sense of dread and self-whipping guilt that eats into my soul every minute until an act of compensation of time and effort vindicates me. It really seems sorrow and fitness do go hand in hand for Xavier Harker. What could I do to redeem my soul, except to mark this as a lesson of obligation towards duty above fun. I am born to suffer above anything else.
Happiness is just an incidental effect, suffering and sorrow a norm, a default. It is my duty to submit to that rule until the day I cease to be. Let the voice of duty reign. Let the fateful day arrive quickly. I shall submit.
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