Tough, life is. That sounded like Yoda. I'm trying to ease the pain by composing rambling prose, and I think it's helping just the least bit. And...now it's stopped helping. I'm coming to realize what an ultimately selfish fool I am.
Here's an interesting conundrum: do I bare my heart here in the never-read confines of this blog, or do I distrust the internet? Of course for me the answer is distrust. So you, my non-existent readers, will never know just what Ian the Pontificator was feeling at 11.35 pm on January 6, 2009.
There's an interesting point: it's 2009. Yet I'm not inclined to Ramble, for some reason, about how fast life runs for us.
I'm fast coming to the conclusion that Timon had it right when he said, "I have a tree which grows here in my close, that mine own use invites me to cut down, and shortly I must fell it. Tell my friends, tell Athens, in the sequence of degree from high to low throughout, that whoso please to stop affliction, let him take his haste, come hither ere my tree hath felt the ax, and hang himself." In summary, Timon's saying: I have a tree here. I'm going to cut it down. If you want to get rid of affliction, turmoil, and suffering, you must kill yourself, and that right soon. Now, while self-murder is heinous, Timon's point is well-taken: death is the only certain, sure way to assuage the pains which accompany fallenness.
Long live dust, ash, and grey oblivion.