Finn's Parlour

 

Binker (what I call him) is a secret of my own,
And Binker is the reason why I never feel alone.
Playing in the nursery, sitting on the stair,
Whatever I am busy at, Binker will be there.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,
And Mummy is the best since the world began,
And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan...

But they can't See Binker.

Binker's always talking, 'cos I'm teaching him to speak
He sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak,
And he sometimes likes to do it in a hoodling sort of roar...
And I have to do it for him 'cos his throat is rather sore.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,
And Mummy knows all that anybody can,
And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan...

But they don't Know Binker.

Binker's brave as lions when we're running in the park;
Binker's brave as tigers when we're lying in the dark;
Binker's brave as elephants. He never, never cries...
Except (like other people) when the soap gets in his eyes.

Oh, Daddy is Daddy, he's a Daddy sort of man,
And Mummy is as Mummy as anybody can,
And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan...

But they're not Like Binker.

Binker isn't greedy, but he does like things to eat,
So I have to say to people when they're giving me a sweet,
"Oh, Binker wants a chocolate, so could you give me two?"
And then I eat it for him, 'cos his teeth are rather new.

Well, I'm very fond of Daddy, but he hasn't time to play,
And I'm very fond of Mummy, but she sometimes goes away,
And I'm often cross with Nanny when she wants to brush my hair...
 

But Binker's always Binker, and is certain to be there. 

Last year, for about six months or more, I had a real problem with insomnia.  I'd get off to sleep but then wake up an hour or so later and be unable to get back to sleep again.   It gave me more time for writing and RP, but other than that I found it hard to see the inherent blessing in this state of affairs.

It seemed to have largely sorted itself out recently, and the insomnia is a typical byproduct of many depressive illnesses so I imagine the potions assigned to me by my friendly alchemist will be helping sort this out.

Last night however.. GAK.

I woke at about 2am, or just before, convinced I heard a baby crying somewhere in my house.  Once awake however I couldn't get back to sleep and after an hour or so of trying I reached for dear Emily, turned her on, and got online.  Where it seems I had a conversation with someone, though I barely remember anything other than having it.   I checked my chat archives however and I was spouting poetry, or what passes for it at 3am.  This is not a great sign, as it is typical of what I was doing last year; it seems my brain free-wheels somewhat at that time of the early morning and I'd really feel a lot more comfortable if I was a little more conscious of what I was doing.

Hey-ho, all part of life's rich tapestry I'm sure.

On a related note, I'm struggling to finish my Tam Lin, a lengthy poetic piece I've been working on for some time.  It seems I can churn out any amount of passable material at the drop of a hat, but having something that I want to actually be good... well that just puts the brakes on.  When I'm less tired I'll go back to it, maybe take a whole new look at the structure.