An announcement and a question
I have a new favorite Shakespeare sonnet. And here it is. So weird. And on the border of dumb and witty.
Sonnet 42
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me
Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss:
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay me on this cross.
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one.
Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.
And now the question.
Can you be a self-diagnosed hypochondriac? I was thinking...You have the disease that makes you think you have a lot of diseases that you don't have. So you think you have hypochondria, but you don't. Which makes you a hypochondriac. Which means you think you have it...
See? I like logic loops.
Sonnet 42
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me
Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss:
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay me on this cross.
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one.
Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.
And now the question.
Can you be a self-diagnosed hypochondriac? I was thinking...You have the disease that makes you think you have a lot of diseases that you don't have. So you think you have hypochondria, but you don't. Which makes you a hypochondriac. Which means you think you have it...
See? I like logic loops.