I used to think I was smart. Really smart, but now I think I’m perhaps just a tiny bit smarter than average except sometimes when I’m daft. Nothing bad in that. The bad thing is that I’m probably cleaver. That is never a good thing to be unless you’re locked inside a lab somewhere. Cleaver don’t know when to stop, and they do things for their own amusement without really considering the consequences. Cleaver is a rash, an itch that moves when scratched and it always moves closer to doom albeit never in a direct path.