Wake Up

So, this whole winter break thing isn’t too great for my motivation. I’ve been trying to self motivate, but that pretty much just devolves into a list of all the things I should be doing that I’m actually not doing ending in a grand guilt trip that makes my stomach spin.

Okay, I allowed myself a week of slack between finishing up the school work and beginning the studying. Because it was my birthday and Christmas and all. So this week, well, I’ve been scanning some stuff, making some gifts for when we have our family Christmas celebration in January, and generally doing okay. I’ve even read some poetry.

However, the thing I really need to get cracking on is the rationale for my list of 20 poets for my exam in spring. I need to come up with a reason that I’m studying who I’m studying beyond the whole, “I had to take a class on them, so I put them on my list” bullshit. I need to articulate my interests. In theory, this shouldn’t be difficult because I’ve been writing about my interests for the past few semesters, including in poems. In practice, however, it’s a bit difficult to connect some of these people with what I’m really into. It’s mostly the old guys that I feel disconnected from. Like Blake, and Whitman and Yeats. Shakespeare. I mean, I kind of know these poets. I’ve studied them. But it’s hard to connect them with Atwood and Carsen, Finnelly and Gluck–namely, the contemporary women on my list. I know I can do it, though. It’s just a matter of getting my brain in that mindset again. Consider this my pep-talk to myself.

My professor believes that a student can grab any 20 poets and draw some kind of links between them all. We’re all writing in a long tradition and every poet has been influenced by hundreds of others. It’s not that big a leap to make. It comes down to the act of making. That’s where I feel the slack sink in. I end up taking two hour naps in the middle of the afternoon instead of doing all the things that I had planned. Which included calling my mother-in-law.

She’s lonely. Home by herself all day and not able to go out anywhere at night because if she gets injured at all she will die because her blood’s too thin because her heart is too weak. At least she finally quit smoking. I don’t know, I think my problem is that I don’t know what to say. I was barely able to think of something to write here. This life, while comfortable and happy, is not all that exciting of late. So what can you do? Take a nap, I guess.


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