Tuesday, don't know the date: This will look good on my war record. When I get back to the republic, my candidacy will be unstoppable.
Thursday, still don't know the date: Strayer needs to die. He refuses to use my title. I keep telling him that the election is a mere formality. He should start using my future title now to get in my good graces.
Sunday, I think: The disarmament treaty failed. I've got the Republic's treasure. The other ambassador's have all fled. It's time I returned to my people. I'm leaving this note to be found by future scholars. They will marvel at my accomplishments.