Once again I will be uprooted from my cushy lair and hurled into the outer void. I must travel and unravel my tangled skein of thought while keeping track of time, space, and parking meters. I will return sometime today after many frustrating and mind-deadening minutes of forced waiting. I shall bring my new omnibus Shakespeare to while away the time. The Bard will comfort me with his timeless prose and poetry;
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
See you soon.
photog, the idiot.