It is 5 minutes past 1:00 pm. I step out of my dreary one bedroom apartment after ages. The February air is still chilly but the sun is out today and I can feel the sunshine caress the back of my bare neck. I suddenly realize my hair is still up in a bun, knotted, tangled from the many sleepless nights; an unweeded garden, not just my hair, my entire being. I remember Hamlet's soliloquy,
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.