Lack of Motivation
It occurred to me that last year, the one thing I would consistently bitch about is writing papers. And then I signed-up for the optional course on Shakespeare which includes 5 papers in 5 weeks. 5 hard ass responses because the professor is a stickler. Now, I really know it's worth it and all, and I've gotten a lot out of it, and what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, and sweating in training is better than bleeding in battle. ... But these thoughts all kind of disappear with the blank document in front of me.
Ughh....
Why can't this be fun like the last one? Or, why can't this be the last one?
The performance of Comedy of Errors was at the Globe and really stuck to the text. No controversial production that 50% or so hated. Nothing really to defend. A smooth sphere with no texture or fault to grasp a hold of ... or rather to practice: "of which to grasp hold."
And it really doesn't help that every thought goes back to Emily. Every single tangent.
The Cotswolds were fun. We walked a ways on one of England's many footpaths. I thought of hiking in Sewanee. With Emily.
The garden at Broughton "Castle" was nice. I thought of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. With Emily.
I had problems with my contacts today. Maybe my eyes are really dry. Hopefully, one of them isn't scratched. Hopefully, it was just really dry. Dry like my pants, hanging in front of the fan after being hand-washed. Dry like any paper-writing creative force in me. Emily is a good solution for this, normally, but she's baking cookies. And I have no Emily to distract me now. Just me and Word. Word and me. And in the beginning there was the Word.... hmm.... wouldn't it be strange if this Word.doc became flesh? I bet I wouldn't have to write my paper, then.