Daymare

What walks I took alone, down muddy lanes, in the bad winter weather, carrying that parlor, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone in it, everywhere: a monstrous load that I was obliged to bear, a daymare that there was no possibility of breaking in, a weight that brooded on my wits, and blunted them!

Sometimes I can't help but feel helpless / I'm havin' daymares in daytime wide awake try to relate / This can't be happenin' like I'm in a dream while I'm walkin' / Cause what I'm seein is hauntin', human beings like ghost and zombies

“Bobbie Nell, that bird just wants to get out of your house. He's trapped in a bird nightmare.” “You're all nightmares! And I'm about to be your nightmare and your daymare.”

There must be something better to spend my precious time daymaring.

She daymared through each one, painting dark, almost black canvases with indistinguishable figures floating in a stormy sky.

Instead he’s daymaring the burning sandy wastes of southern Iraq – the unknowable concrete-and-mud-brick towns and forgotten bazaars where the Rams could well lose themselves … in a wilderness of dust.