Thursday January 19, 2012

Sarah’s still not talking to me.

She wasn't at school today, either.

I must have called her cell half a dozen times just today. Also, her home phone. She has her own private line -- I keep leaving messages. But she won’t answer.

The bitch.

No, I take that back. She’s not a bitch. I love her. She’s my soulmate. That’s why this hurts so fucking much, that’s why it feels like somebody ripped my heart right out of my chest and started stomping on it.

We’re studying Shakespeare in school right now - Hamlet, actually. I can’t concentrate on much, but this is something that caught my attention. It’s the scene that everyone has heard without having seen Hamlet -- the one where he’s standing there talking to himself -- it’s called a sol-something. Sounds like a solid query or something like that.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that the monologue our teacher, Miss Hamilton, explained to us in proper modern English -- I normally don’t pay all that much attention to the old bird, but this time, I couldn’t help but hang on her every word -- well, this monologue, it spoke to me.

To Be Or Not To Be.

Wow - what wild crazy shit. I mean, what made him put it into such a bizarre term? Who would have thought that that’s what Hamlet meant -- that he was considering committing suicide. I find myself reading and re-reading the quote over and over again. I think I have a lot of it memorized now, because I can recite it.

To Be or not to be. That is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.

“And by opposing, end them” -- what a wickedly cool statement.

To die - to sleep no more. And by a sleep . . . to end the thousand heartaches, the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. To die -- to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there’s the rub.

Ay, yes, “the rub”

For in that sleep of death what dreams might come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.

I know this Shakespeare dude lived hundreds of years ago - but he knew, man. He knew exactly how I feel. I don’t know how, but he does.

Fucking strange.

-- 1 Comment --
Frank - said . . .
You sound like you have a real tormented soul.  Love is never an easy game to play it seems.