scribbling
Locked up inside my house since yesterday afternoon, trying to write my conference paper (today is a holiday in Australia, the symbolic birthday of a Queen I don't accept as my ruler). Should finish the first draft by tonight.
Frequently frustrated by ideas that refuse to line up (Head 'em up! Move 'em out!); occasionally close to happiness when they do. Just like I am in university libraries. Vaguely hoping that my thoughts and their expression, if and when it happens, might relate not only to books, but to life outside academia.
Real, as opposed to rhetorical, question (to myself, not to whoever reads this): should I accept that the above means that reading and writing, not lovers, is what I do best, and therefore should I stick to reading and writing and forget about lovers?
Answer: Maybe. I am grateful for these moments of fulfilment, but I'm not yet ready to give up hoping for love. Not yet.
Frequently frustrated by ideas that refuse to line up (Head 'em up! Move 'em out!); occasionally close to happiness when they do. Just like I am in university libraries. Vaguely hoping that my thoughts and their expression, if and when it happens, might relate not only to books, but to life outside academia.
Real, as opposed to rhetorical, question (to myself, not to whoever reads this): should I accept that the above means that reading and writing, not lovers, is what I do best, and therefore should I stick to reading and writing and forget about lovers?
Answer: Maybe. I am grateful for these moments of fulfilment, but I'm not yet ready to give up hoping for love. Not yet.