The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake

Delirium Kisses, Fever Dreams

For those of you that don't know, not only do I talk in my sleep but I sing.

Really.

From my mother's amazement at my childhood nocturnal ramblings to my first roommate in college incredulously informing me that I sang the entirety of "The Perfect Nanny" from Mary Poppins the first night in my dorm.

It's nothing new.

Today has been spent mostly dozing on the couch, while Mojo and Arabis went about their day around me. At one point, I began to sing:

"Birds gotta swim!
And fish gotta fly!
I gotta love one man 'til he dies.
Can't help lovin' that man o' mine!"

Mojo has to pop in," Artemis? Are you awake?"

"Birds gotta swim!
And fish gotta fly!
I gotta love one man 'til I KILL HIM!
Can't help lovin' that man o' mine!"

"Art!" says Mojo laughing. "You're singing about killing me!"

"No, no! I don't want to kill you! You're taking good care of me. I like you. I don't want to kill you." I pause and then continue, "In fact, I need to embroider you a little tiny vest and hat. To show you how much I love you."

"Are you trying to say that I'm your minion?"

"No. You're the father of the minion. But when you really love someone, you embroider them little tiny vests and hats."

And with that I retreated into deep sleep. All this was related to me with great glee upon waking.

The vests and hats are reference to another dream of about a year ago wherein I was sobbing aloud and quite distressed, muttering how "Someone must have loved them very much to embroider all those hats and vests but now she's dead and they're ALL ALONE!!!!!!"

We figured out that one was about the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.

Then there was the time I gleefully informed him that I was "On a mission from Frog" and that we had to find "Mr Fabulous," obviously channeling Kermit and the Blues Brothers together.

My brain is a frightening place to live when I'm healthy. When I'm sick, it becomes an E ticket ride!

Braaaaaiiiiiins

"Hmmmm, juice, Mommy. Good juice. Yummy, yummy juice!"

"What are you drinking, Arabis?"

"Juice!"

Er...no...that's not juice. That's the remains of your father's Turkish Coffee milkshake from last night that was almost full and is now...empty. Yeah. A two year old wired on Turkish Coffee, because anything with a straw in it is "juice."

I've already declared today a "pajama day" because I don't want to bother getting dressed. When is the feeling of being exhausted every going to go away? Perhaps it just never does. It's one of those things they don't tell you about being a parent, because if you knew it's possible the species would never propagate.

I do love my daughter. Even though she thinks eggs are "balls, mommy, balls!" that don't bounce. "Ball broke, mommy!"

I'm not getting sick. No way, no how. Not. Getting. Sick.

"I love you, Mommy."

Yeah, sweetie. I love you too. That's what this is all about.

"Tattoo? Have tattoo, please?"



Gods, help me! This is going to be a looong day.