The Queen, My Lord, Is Dead.

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
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.

This morning, Macbeth is stuck in my head. And it is indeed a day full of sound and fury - part of recent weeks full of sound and fury.

Signifying? Well, not nothing altogether, but nothing much really, and certainly nothing too bad. Things are quite good (in spite of the dismal quote above!), just busy.

Bring on the sound and fury... it alters the petty pace.