Well, finally it seems I've wasted my life. It's a hard age at which to drink spider-juice but I submit. Suddenly...I felt the flimsiness of all my substance, but not so much because I'd missed something. Quite the contrary -- it was because of something of which I've had all too much: myself. I doubt it ever occurs to people who are not cursed with this 'urge to create' (whatever that is) how, far from living in sublime communion with one's Muse, one grows thoroughly to hate her.