This semester has less and less push behind it. I'm looking forward to maybe taking the minimum number of credits next semester ... that would be such an improvement. Sometimes I can't wait to get out of here.
Today, I went running, and since I couldn't make up my mind on where to go, I ended up running all the way out to Hereford. I set my toes in and sprinted up that long, steep hill that I used to climb every single day. It was so pretty in the late afternoon sunlight, with lots of people outside playing soccer and a boy playing guitar on the hammock, just like there was last year. I stood outside my old window (third floor, midway up the Hill) and looked at it, missing my view, missing having my totally secluded space.
Don't get me wrong, I love my location and my bathroom-mates now, but I miss being able to come home to a place that was quiet and elevated and removed from the wild pace of things here, in the heart of everything.
Additionally, I have a new poet who suits me: Mary Oliver. Born in 1935, specializes in observing the natural world and capturing it mid-motion, has lived as a lesbian in Provincetown for more than forty years.
tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
It's intense, anyway. But it's an intensity I like.
I finally have a little bit of spare money (I think). I want hemp rainbows for the summer, and a book of Mary Oliver, and some really good iced tea.
reading: othello
listening to: tegan and sara
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