I do my best and worst work north of you but best or worst does not exist if unobserved.
And I still get picked on — now in a major way.
Yet business proceeds — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured abs.

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of abs.