Elbows, Martian and a safe place

I shared the bottom bunk with my son last night. For some reason he has wanted me to do this for some time now. Well, now that I have done it, I believe we are agreed that it is not the best arrangement for getting any of the stuff they call “sleep.” My son is all jagged edges; his elbows (and knees, but last night it was mostly elbows) are sharp instruments, and I was poked by them over and over again. I couldn’t get comfy at all. Oh, and he talks in his sleep; verrrry passionately and full of conviction! The only problem is that he doesn’t speak in English, or any language I recognize actually. So I have decided it is Martian he is speaking. I am sure he and the entities in his dreams understand him just fine; but it’s rather hard to sleep next to sharp objects saying Gar splotchet rigaldobot with gusto.

Oh and that safe place. Just … while I was lying awake last night I was thinking of those nearest to me, for whom I so wish I could provide a safe place. And in some ways I can; but … am I a wuss? A coward? Sometimes I think one can be too nice. I need to listen to needs and reasoning more, of others, as mine is frequently faulty. I am so overtired today, though, that I am not going to ask of myself much rational thought. Just … you know … getting the laundry done, and taking home a sleepover guest and … the bare basics I think. Yeah … there is time enough to work on other things when I am not half past exhausted.

Carnival wink

Roustabout gadfly
candy floss mind
a heart of spun sugar
can be so unkind

Harps play and hips sway
one sings my tune
a spirit of angel hair
came home none too soon

Too light for a price
sweet as candy
shall I defend some honor
shall I be a dandy

Light as a feather
plume on a hat
I will swing us round and round
what can come of that