A Soliloquy

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.

-William Shakespeare, "Macbeth" (or "The Scottish Play" for the superstitious)


I don't entirely know why, but this soliloquy just sticks in my head. I have let myself become... stuck... in my life; where every decision of any importance seems to cause me to grind to a halt, unable to choose any direction.

I strut and fret my time upon the stage, but become so stuck on a single moment that I fear I am missing the rest of the story.

Perhaps all the decisions I become stuck on are the things full of sound and fury...

but ultimately do not mean as much as I make them out to.

if so... then perhaps I am the idiot.


The play goes on... paths must be taken... but very few bridges are burned... remember that.