An Act of Seven Ages-As You Like It

They say nice girls finish last. And good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere. So I wonder often: Where do the imperfect average like myself go then? Which word am I among the pages of the great novel? Which drop am I in the vastness of the waters of the oceans? Which blip am I in the cosmic radar?

Pray tell me, because I'd surely like to know.

Who am I? Say I'm a pawn in the great chess game... then, what is my function? What is my role?

They say all the world's a stage... the men and women merely its' players... they have their exits and their entrances... and one man in his time, plays many parts... his act being seven ages....

Maybe so. If I'm lucky. So what is my role?

Sometimes... I know I'm too choosy, at times. Yet at other times, I wonder if I settle too quickly.

Someone once told me I demanded perfection too much. The perfect man. The perfect job. Is that so? Another told me my idea of the perfect man is one who builds his life around me. But then, wouldn't that bore me?

I want something that will last. Or at least, the foundations of a lasting legacy. Am I foolish to hold on to the notion that I certainly do not expect to be the first, but I would hope to be, like to be, the last? Is that too much naivete? Or is that demanding too little, of myself, especially?

Seven ages... an act of seven ages is a long time. I would want it to be fulfilling.. at the very least.