Make it through tonight, then I will mend my ways

Destruction may be my natural inclination and talent, but a person cannot live a life of breaking things absent the need to fix a few of them, too. So, believe it or not, reparation is my subset skill. Ours, a complex restoration project to be sure, is my Notre-Dame de Paris. I, the modern Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, have set out on this weighty mission unperturbed, tools at the ready, utterly steadfast in the determination that — this time — the masterpiece will be indestructible, enduring for all time. As Hero syndrome goes, I suppose I do myself justice. Sure, there is fear, there are doubts, there can be crippling anxiety followed by assurance so high and dense it might be better described as "Cumulonimbus Confidence," and there also can be good days that end in bad nights opposite a hostile bathroom mirror. What I see staring back at me can differ from week to week, but certain elements always remain; truth, at the very least, greets me soberly (sometimes more so than I greet it) every single time I take a leak. So I can recognize, even in reflections, the crooked angles I have traditionally taken... but if I believe that I can rebuild Notre-Dame invincibly, I damn sure believe that I can and walk the straight path to the end of my days.