Silly questions running through my head.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

~ Langston Hughes

I’m just tired, that’s all. And feeling hopeless. And for once, it’s only marginally related to TTC. I think, maybe, I might be toying with the edge of a bit of depression, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t care, either, really. I just – don’t know.

To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.