Above: WH Auden.

Below: cups, marmalade, and tea. God, I feel as old as prufrock, the hills, and that crafty old serpent.

I wrote a poem today as part of a collaborative effort betwixt Illia and myself. I'm amazed.

Everytime I close my eyes I go back to this dream where a fellow was trying to black out the earth with a nuclear weapon. I had a little blond daughter and he wanted her dead. It was a crazy geeky guy. I knew him, somehow. And Jesse Quinn or someone very like him was going to let us use his bomb shelter. But his evil plan got thwarted somewhere in there, and I destroyed the weapon, his life's work. I thought it more than retribution for attacking my child.

In the last part of the dream my sister and I were in sears, shopping for cloth. They gave me a 25% off for mothers sticker, although it should have gone to my sister. Both the saleslady and my sister insisted I wear it though.

I don't know why I keep dreaming of maternity. I'm too young for /my/ biological clock to be ticking. So it's probably metaphorical.

*looks dubiously at her belly*

You see, rabbit does not engage in any activities that would put a baby there naturally. Divine intervention, however, that is a possibility. What a pity-- the few people whose genetic material I'd dearly love to carry are all female.

Ah bloody well.

Unpack some boxes I must, and then lunch to make, and /then/ work to go. I want to scatter the contents of my brain all over the floor and fall to gnawing them in blind ravenous misery. I want to chew sinew. I want to make large machete dents in my scalp.

And I want to live forever.

balmy.

<<agé chose>>

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