Reflections of Miss Marple

I never liked the woman anyway... and now she's keeping me up. Actually, I lie. I just prefer the pompous Belgian, and it's hardly her fault that I now have this horrible vision of wrinkly, sagging sweet old lady clad in stockings and lace corset prancing about in my head. She's not the only reason I'm watching the clock at 0238....Reflection is meant to be a good thing, isn't it? Or like all good things, can you get too much of it? It's been a day of confused musings and a sense of restlessness, capped by a greater philosophical reflection of life. Think it's time to call the cavalry. What do you want to bet she's travelling to some god forsaken place up North? Do I stay? Do I go? Am I done here? Tell the investment banker to rein in his miracle worker? How will I know for sure?
It's funny how little actually changes in a sea of change. Umrao Jaan was a victim of her times (described by one reviewer as a crybaby, perpetually sorry for herself.... not untrue, but perhaps a little harsh given the reality of the times), but are things really so different now? The 'other' woman is still the easiest to blame. Reflection is hard when you have to look inwards. But then, oddly enough, in a culture that spawned the concept, it's something we shun with a degree of expertise worthy of it's own international recognition. Why are we so reluctant to admit that there might be more to life. Are we just that lazy?
I really don't know why I do posts at this hour of the morning - I've completely lost my train of thought and this ramble is now irretrievable. I shall attempt to ignore Miss Marple, Umrao Jaan, Vicky and Maria Elaine and get some sleep! A-ha! That's the problem - too many damn women on my mind!