A tale told by an idiot

Ran across this passage from Shakespeare's Macbeth (which I actually saw at the Globe Theater in Stratford more than 10 years ago). The passage was used in a podcast Unitarian sermon discussing faith versus apathy, with this passage illustrating the depths of apathy, of a life simply existing without meaning or purpose. Suppose I jotted this down cuz there are those days, huh?

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

How many times does it feel that life's but a walking shadow? Where tomorrow and tomorrow creep their slow, petty pace. The days we spend strutting, then fretting. And in the end, we're heard no more. A life, full of sound and fury that in the end, signifies nothing?

Wow...had not intended to get depressive here, cuz really, life - my life - not without its wallows, is not all that bad. Actually, learning to write all this out seems to help with that.

What really drew me to the passage was the phrase, "a tale told by an idiot". I so wanted to rename this journally bloggy thing after this passage, but it only took a quick googling to realize I'd be one of about 948 online scribblers to do so.