One week of silence.

I think it's a good thing.

For with him, all the world, here, is a stage. I feel it. The player in question is no longer someone I wish to meet with on a daily basis, for when he returns from the grand stage of life in the outside world, tired of his showy role and needing of quiet, he retreats to his dressing room. And as such, we, the five dressing room roommates (why does he have roommates) must be silent, and if we cannot do so, we must bask in his glory. For it is no moment that this play can stop. It is no moment that this play will stop. The director never shouts "cut", the scriptwriters never rest, the producers never think enough is enough, the cameras roll on and on, the audience watches on for ever and ever, a wrap party is nowhere in sight. And I am tired. So very very tired.
The perpetually low levels have found a new low. I need silence.
Thank you, Lord, for the silence.