Tread softly...

"Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."

I love this poem. Normally I'm not one for poetry despite all of my mother's attempts to instill the love of poetry in me but this one... I don't know, it does something for me. It's Yeats of course, not that I would have known that without looking it up.

No, I heard it in a movie (where else? :) ) and for some reason it's stuck with me.

I would give you everything in the world, I love you that much. Even though I have no money, I would still give you all I have instead.

That's devotion :)

Ahhhhh.... I'm tired. Dog-tired. Bone-tired and fatigued. I should go to bed but it's still light out. It's just a wee bit pathetic to be going to bed when there's a sliver of daylight left. You'd think I was old or something.

I keep joking about being old. You know when you're making small talk with someone and somehow the subject of ages comes up. Usually you'll play off your age by either making jokes at your expense or making jokes at others' expense (but in a nice way.) I make jokes at my expense. Most of the time it's funny, but lately I've been feeling like, "Hey wait a minute, I'm NOT old damnit." I don't want to even joke about it because in a weird way, joking about it actually makes me feel old.

Or maybe it's because I feel an overwhelming desire to crawl into bed when it's still daylight that makes me feel old.

Sod it. Been a crazy week. Bed wins.