August 19, 2002
Hamlet
Right now, just this second, I am Ophelia incarnate. Right now, just this minute I feel as though I�m falling. Right now, just this hour I am not myself. Right now, just this day I am more 'me' than I ever have been..
And it's all due to 3 a.m.
3 a.m. - the hour when you wake for no apparent reason and can�t go back to sleep. The hour when you are left lying there with all your fears and hopes and dreams and nightmares dancing before you in vivid shades of blues and grays. Specters full of mockery and lust. Transparent images from your heart of hearts.
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs her crownet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaid-like a while they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element. But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
~ Taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet
11:58 a.m.