Every now and then the absurdity of my existence bursts on me afresh. There is that French existential sense, ie, M. Camus (how cool was he?) and his Sisyphean metaphors and the question of why we don't just kill ourselves this instant; but at the ridiculous end of it, there's me, sitting at my computer trying to make things up. Why? Why do I do this? And the answer floats back, like Echo... "because...you want to..." Oh. I see. What was I thinking?

Well, in such moments, one can always turn for some inspiration to the blogosphere, which is perking up out of its summer torpor. There's Born Dancin's Ant Fact Mondays, which are guaranteed to be both educational and amusing. Refreshed, one can move on to another essay from Chris Goode on Thompson's Bank, A Quick Note on Likeness, in which he considers "the difference between the indicative and the subjunctive, between what is and what if". Then you can head towards Superfluities Redux, which is positively bristling with stuff these days, and, among other fascinating posts, check out a moving meditation on the Rothko Chapel in Houston. Don't forget a stop at Andrew Haydon's blog, Postcards from the Gods, which has livened up considerably in the past month, and has some interesting thoughts about that old shibboleth, theatre criticism. Then head to James Waites, who has apparently written a short book on the STC's The War of the Roses, starring our Cate and directed by Benedict Andrews, which also happens to be the last of the Actors Company productions. I confess that I have carefully not read James's meditations yet, because I will be seeing the whole thing for myself next week, which is actually pretty exciting. So I am saving the Waites thoughts up for afterwards, like a special dessert.

Does all that make my own life less absurd? Of course not. But maybe it's more richly absurd, which is probably the most one can ask for.