2009-06-24
parted
Lizz got the world spanned across her back. I forgot to ask her if it tickled when it happened, or if it hurt. It�s etched and stretched in ink, shoulder blades encompassed by continents. Give her a massage and you would be rubbing India and Mexico. I�ll ask her next time.
Things are good here. As always, different becomes same and new becomes old. I am nearly half done.
There hasn�t been much romanticism in my life, and I definitely feel like this is my domain for that, so I�ll probably come up empty handed. But let it be said I�ve been biking a lot, gliding down the hill to the backdrop of a lazy river and a sky delirious in its heat. The hill is a mere slope, as flat as this place is, but I�m still gripping the breaks.
Yes, not much romanticism at all�instead, intellectualism. I�m programming, I�m designing, I�m experimenting. Sifting through concepts, deducing ideas, analyzing, etc. This is a pre-PhD program. It�s a really fucking good thing for my future, and I�m grateful, happy, and excited.
But, naturally, it�s not quickening my breath, making me soar inside; it is, if anything, giving me headaches and brief nudges of impending stress and pressure.
It�s just an unsettling way to spend my summer, drenched in these thoughts that are far from capricious whims, earnest poetics, uninhibited naivete, the silly thrilling hopeful yearnings, the urge, the press, the potential�me tugging at my own heart with cravings for greatness, romance, exaltation, bliss. These things, these are summer to me. They thrive upon the lush grass at Woodland, the soft sun, and beckoning stars above the mountains. Even in Ohio two summers ago, after I clocked out at night, I would entertain myself with my own devices, pining for Danny and gazing pensively out onto black horizon from the shore. Summer is a slumberous pause, trembling yens, parted lips; a deep repose with restless nights and wakeful afternoons.
Summer, for me, has always been a time for yearning, for deep promise. It�s been a slight challenge to translate that yearning and promise into academic terms, to eschew my sappy, prosaic fancies. But I�m doing good stuff here, and in time, maybe I�ll find a way to un-dichotomize all this and allow for a more fluid fusion of my academic and �romantic� self. Maybe that�s what August can be for me.
I wish Petie and I could celebrate her birthday together again. That thought just came to me, thinking about how good July is. July, Leo, Lion, Fiery Mane, Red-Orange-Yellow, Golden, Fire, Hot, Warm, Sun, Sunny. All against pure blue sky and lake, untouched by the school calendar. I love the sound of the word �July�; I think it is sensual, like the contours of its letters written out in a slow cursive. Yum July. Anyway, how many years ago? we went to Coffee Traders for breakfast, just the two of us, and had a really pleasant meal. It�s the kind of memory where I don�t remember the particulars, but I can perfectly recall the sentiments- the tone, the way I felt, the ease of my thoughts and sharings. I wish we could do that again. Maybe a different year.
I�m adjusting. There is always room for love, even in academia. Love, love, love.
leesah-likes at 11:44 p.m.