Surprise! I'm back and blogging, or The Day I Really Understood Hamlet.

To this day, I swear it: On that corner, you looked like Hamlet, but it might've just been the way the light hit your hipbones. You seemed like no stranger to brooding, and I am no stranger to disaster boys. You looked like a real glorious disaster.

I know what happens next: You go crazy, I go crazy, we both die, but not before you say a few beautiful things about sleep being the cousin of death, you look a little pale, and you're all, "Seems, madam? Nay, it is; I know not 'seems,'" which is a really brilliant line, and believe me, I love you for that one.

I have things to say, though, too, before I lose my mind and drown in a river: Like, "Lord, we know what we are, but not what we may be." Shakespeare took care of his ladies, old pal, and don't you forget it.

They say you might be gay for Horatio, but I'm going to pretend I never heard anything about that. Ignorance is bliss, as I always say.

And you're so angry, but it's brilliant. Really. I mean that. You deliver the To Be Or Not To Be: "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." It's brilliant, of course. You're brilliant, of course, but then you're like, "Get thee to a nunnery." Scholars will argue for centuries whether you're protecting me from the antics of men or calling me a slut. I'll keep my opinions to myself.

But I've read enough to know what happens next: You go crazy, I go crazy, we both die. But today, before that has to happen, when you kiss me, I'll whisper into your mouth: "This above all: To thine own self be true." I think it's good advice. I'll take it as my own line now.

"This above all: To thine own self be true." And true that.

I would like an Iphone now.
All my love,
Addy