"I live too much with the dead. My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying mentally to construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and confusing changes." (George Eliot, Middlemarch)

I just love the above passage but it's really only a cut-and-paste fragment and has no meaning to this particular post.

I will be one year older in a few days and I think I'm a bit down about it.

My last post bore complaints but I'm determined to see the good in things.

First, I'm not doomed like Cassandra of Greek mythology. Apollo granted her the gift of prophesy but she was doomed to never be believed. This would have driven the poor woman mad. (Well, this and the fact that she had no fewer than fifty brothers.)