My brain has turned to complete mush. Mush, I tell you. Guess that's what I get for taking a month off from pursuing anything intellectually challenging or creatively stimulating. Over the break I watched hours and hours of America's Next Top Model, slept til noon, and drank beer with my high school friends in lieu of doing anything to keep my intellectual juices flowing. It was fun at the time, but now school's started back up, and I might freak out. I think it's safe to say that Tim had a bad day.
I mean, it wasn't terrible, just nerve-racking. It was one of those days where you fail to answer to your given name when it's called on the roll because Timothy sounds so foreign to you, when, try as you might, you can't make yourself write "08" instead of "07" when you date the top of the page. Even a simple reading assignment (and I'm talking simple--maybe 10 pages) is so daunting, so utterly discombobulating, the words on the page just jumble together in a mess. And I'm not under the influence of any mind-altering drugs. I'm just coming out of a lethargic period. Let's hope I bounce back soon. I'm taking four grad classes this semester and starting a new job as a private English and history tutor for a high school junior. I'm wondering if that's too much....but then I remember those wonderful undergraduate years when I had no problem balancing a 22-hour semester, editing The Vortex, working at Subway and the Writing Center and still going out every weekend. I fear those days may be behind me now.
What I need is some motivation, a good day in class, a good start on a poem. Instead I have a knot of nerves below my stomach about how poorly I'm afraid I'll do this semester, and the poem I tried to write last night was ended mid-line to save the world from another surly teenagerish whine fest. But I'll keep on hacking, I guess. That's what a writer's gotta do, right?
Back to the grindstone.
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