Can anyone paraphrase Hamlet's "O, that this too, too solid flesh" soliloquy?

Oh, I wish I could just disintegrate, disappear; or I wish at least that it wasn't a sin to kill myself. God life sucks. And before you know it, if you're not careful, everything just goes to sh*t. But, I mean, come on! My dad's not even been dead two months... He was awesome... he was like super-hero giant compared to some mutant goat boy. And he loved my mom so much that he wouldn't even wish a stiff breeze in her face. I wish I could forget. She would cling to him constantly, she couldn't get enough of him and the more she got the more she wanted. But then within a month - I don't want to even think about it. Women have no integrity. Hardly even a month... the shoes she bought for the funeral where she was all, "boo hoo, my husbands dead", are still practically brand new, and then she goes and... Oh god, an animal would have mourned longer... she marries my uncle, my dad's brother, but no more like my dad than I am to Hercules. Less than a month, even before the salt from her phony tears had been cleared out of the tear ducts, she's married again. Jumps like a gymnast into bed with essentially her brother. This can't end well. It's killing me because I can't say a thing about it.