I hate statistics. Unreasonably sure statements of fact, missing piece of person stuck to assurance. Look at it this way: If you tell me that the odds are 50/50, I know which side of the 50 I’m on. It’s not pessimistic so much as accurate, a statistic itself. You try to hold yourself accountable. Words carry varying amounts of weight. The need to account for the why becomes overwhelming. What lives behind a number, in corner, in a fold. There is possible exception. An exclusion or an allowance or both at once.