Fatigue and the Maiden.

I’m so tired these days. Every morning when I wake up I immediately fall back to sleep. And every evening when I’m sitting in front of the computer I fall asleep again.

It reminds me of those days ten or more years ago when I was suffering chronic fatigue syndrome, and the Lady B said on one occasion ‘Can’t you walk any faster, Jeff?’ She could have followed it with ‘You remind me of my grandmother,’ only she didn’t. She saved that one for later. Ever the one to hoard discursive currency for a rainy day, you see.

For all her general quietness and demure demeanour, she was a real Hermione Granger in the matter of put-downs and giving orders. ‘Come closer so I can hear you better’ was another one. And then there was the day when she took from me a hook and chain that I was fiddling with. She did so quietly but firmly and fastened the hook in one smooth movement, then turned and walked away without a word. Can you wonder why I grew to love her so much?

Such good memories, but memories are two-dimensional, and the question of whether they have value remains moot. No substance, you see. Shakespeare said of tomorrows that they ‘creep in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time.’ He could have said the same of yesterdays, since all our yesterdays led only to our tomorrows. What he actually said was ‘And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.’ The lady merely said ‘Life moves on, Jeff.’ And so it did, leaving one star less to adorn the bowl of night.

(Dear, oh dear. Shakespeare and Omar Khayyam in one post. Whatever is wrong with me today? Better get my feet back on the ground and wash the dishes.)

Just to add, however, that when I was posting this I realised that the word 'maid' is so prosaic, but 'maiden' has a distinct ring of both the poetic and ethereal about it.