"O God, I could be bounded it a nutshell
and count myself a king of infinite space,
were it not that I have bad dreams."
This fascination with Hamlet knows no end, might well be that I realised I'm just as much of a 'man who couldn't make up his mind' as dearest Lord Hamlet.
What exactly was my tragic flaw, then?
How is my story going to end?
Is it really going to be a tragedy?
I sincerely hope- no.
I am so, so tired, I need rest and sunshine. That's why I'm going to- oh, the irony!- Denmark in August which I'm really looking forward to. But for now, I'll keep mulling over this hamletesque melancholy and watch out for bits of sunshine in this godforsaken country.