It's 6:26am. I am watching the light tentatively poke its head around my curtains, and am now currently ignoring the way it clears its throat; the manner in which it does so is rather annoying. It's far too cheerful, if the clearing of throats by an ephemeral moment of fancy can be considered cheerful.

Why can't I sleep like normal people?

Why must my brain be forever on the march? On the move? On the veritable carousel?

Maybe the wind blew harder than most other days.
Perhaps the nightingale was humming her song (under her wing)
She did not hear me calling you.
You left before I was ready to let go of you.

Maybe the rooster crowed too late in the afternoon.
Perhaps the old church bells were biding their time (under their eaves)
They did not see me search for you.
You left before I was ready to let go of you.




Weird tan lines.

The forever sense of thirst.

I am a girl who can never get enough.

Jesus is the only man man enough for me. When He draws up the bucket, that bucket so full, I could swim forever in the ladle He offers.

How quickly I forget. I reach for the everything else.

Is it because I am afraid of drowning?

Think of it again, girl. Try it another way and drowning becomes a sort of baptism.

Baptize me in that life water.
Keep me low under, till all my old is torn asunder with the kindest of tearing.
It's a sweet sort of violence,
He brings to my flesh,
Pulling back the layers to allow my spirit to breathe.

My son, my Nix, took a picture of me shortly before he went to bed. So, here I am in all my p.j.s and no make-up glory.

Or lack thereof.

When I was very little my mother told me I had my Grandfather's chin. I was horrified to think that he was now no longer in possession of one. I have since learned that he still is. ;-) My penchant for taking things literally was blooming even then.



Nothing cures insomnia like the realisation that it's time to get up.