9 Oct 2009

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come?

I'm reading my copy of Hamlet tonight.

I find an inordinate amount of comfort from it.  Because.

Because, despite my own problems, Hamlet's life is worse.

My Uncle hasn't married my Mother.  After killing my Father.

My Two best freinds aren't secretly spying on me.

I haven't got a ghost haunting me.

The mere act of typing this is making me feel better. 

Thankyou, William Shakespeare and your beautiful verse;
                                                        your beatiful prose.

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