I am tired. I’ve been tired so long I am not sure what not tired feels like. I can tell you what tired feels like though.
Tired feels like words just out of reach so that there are large gaps when you speak as you try to grasp the word you want or simply remember what it is you are trying to say. Tired is feeling like your eyes are always half closed rusted portals too dry to creak open all the way. Tired feels like effort to breathe, effort to think, effort to stand, sit, or sleep.
Tire feels like slogging along in thick mud caked boots so that each step is heavier than the last. Tired feels like wanting to sleep but knowing that sleep doesn’t help and neither does coffee. Tired is a constant. Or maybe that is just what it feels like right now.
When I get really tired, when I wish I could just lay down and close my eyes even if it is just on the floor, my brain regurgitates things I have read. Mostly there are just a half of a dozen quotes that are shoved together, and usually it is some form of poetry.
I am exhausted right now. I don’t have to work tonight but I do have to stay awake long enough to make sure the kids are fed and bathed and that homework is completed and bedtime is accomplished at a decent hour. So tired poetry is running through my head at the moment. I have Robert Frost, Shakespeare, and William Cullen Bryant all mashed together.
In 11th grade English, Mrs. Sherlin made us memorize the poem Thanatopis. I hated, I am talking about loathed, that poem. Mostly just because: it is long, I was sixteen, I was forced to memorize it, and that year was all about American authors and death. I found it incredible depressing and from that point forward decided (in my infinite 16yr old wisdom) that all American poets were crap and should have been placed on antidepressants.
Now, thanks to Mrs. Sherlin, Mr. William Cullen Bryant’s Thanatopis is stuck in my brain right along side William Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.
In my tired brain it all goes something like this: “….Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.” “…to sleep, To sleep perchance to dream; Aye there’s the rub,” “…But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.”
My daughter is sick. She has been up most of the night running a fever and throwing up. I hope it is not the flu. We already went through that once with my son last month. I get to put on my Mom MD hat again which means my blue fedora will have to remain on the rack.
I am too worn out to write much anyway. Who know what kind of incomprehensible drivel would fall from my finger tips today. Maybe I can scribble some while she sleeps but right now I think I am just going to go back to bed for a nap. *yawn*