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."
William Shakespeare
- Macbeth, 1606
The noise gets to me...and I need to retreat. How I wish I was in a hermetically sealed environment sometimes...so detached and devoid...and mercifully, numbed from pain.
This is not good...being so out of sync like this.
The internal dialogue must change..I am aware of that...
But when...?
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