I believe that existing in the world is a rough sort of karma, a merit system that metes out justice with meticulous reference to past deeds. I also believe that some of us come to be known by screw-ups. These are more than ordinary screw-ups; the very magnitude and impact of the screw-up itself is of course undebatable, but eventually the shadows of said events come to follow us, who desperately try to eke out honorable lives thereafter. They haunt us and draw attention to us in our finest hours, in our feasts and debaucheries – Shakespeare’s Banquo springs to mind.
So perhaps what I’m going through at present moment is a moment of this grandeur – Macbeth himself would be proud. There is no tragedy so sweet and cruel as this: the successful hunt of a quarry in the face of inevitable doom, followed by futilely fighting to retain said quarry, failing miserably and dying. I am fighting time to hold on to what I obtained by illegitimate means and I suppose Macduff is arriving soon to put an end, only biding his time. He has all of it.