Be to her, Persephone, All the things I might not be; Take her head upon your knee. She that was so proud and wild, Flippant, arrogant and free, She that had no need of me, Is a little lonely child Lost in Hell, -- Persephone, Take her head upon your knee; Say to her, "My dear, my dear, It is not so dreadful here." - Edna St Vincent Millay
Struggled awake from one of my "failure dreams" in which I've failed to prepare for something, my injured arm aching dully.
I don't need an analyst for dream interpretation. I'm terrified and frozen, as Christmas bears down on me like a bright SUV -- or a horde of cyclists. I'm healing, slowly and steadily, from my fall two and a half weeks ago, but I tire easily, and find myself slow to attempt even the least labour-intensive tasks.