The category extends to include all the characters... down to the faceless courtiers. Each and every character would be as important as the next and assigned the same significance.

Sometimes I see my acquaintances or old school mates as those dull little courtiers. They are important to the everyday workings of the Danish court, just perhaps not as flamboyant, or noticeable as the main characters in the play. They seem contend to lead relatively simple lives, place emphasis on appearances, work for a living, and jockey around for an advantage. They seem to have conservative viewpoints and are content to be herded by group instinct.

That's not a bad life, nor is it an invalid viewpoint. I'm not making judgements here, although I am human with my own slant on things. After all, I consider myself one of those characters who who thrive on intensity. Which is where the assigned dramatic characters come in.

While you have to take the time to know the people around you, to be able to assign them a character, you will be able to spot any one of those who resemble Claudius, Gertrude, Laertes, Polonius and their ilk.

Well, one of my close friends is one of those nameless faceless courtiers who follow the lead of any of the more forceful characters. And an aquaintance is certainly a Hamlet-like personality. Not completely Hamlet of course, but no two persons can analyse Hamlet exactly the same way, just like no two persons are exactly alike. And Hamlet, is a Hamlet.

I share an affinity with Ophelia, with traces of Hamlet but I am definitely more Ophelia.

And that saddens me sometimes. Am I truly that weak? Or sad? Or the dozen of myriad thoufhts that spring up when one mentions Ophelia?

What brought this sudden ramble along a Shakespearean play?

Lots of things. A forwarded email, an old friend leaving, a sudden memory of an incident that happened 6 years ago that left me feeling discomforted. Was I right? Was I wrong? And if I was neither right nor wrong and partially to blame, why was I the one to be assigned the entire fault? The old misery of being excluded for being different again.

I hate it when I think. BF hates me to think because it makes me depressed. I think that my problem is not because I think too much, but rather I think too little, and way too late. Oh, and I think about the wrong things. I should be thinking about my arguments for my critique, not thinking about critics that criticise my way of thinking.

And I think, that last paragraph is a mouthful to say aloud.