deeply abstracted
What feeds a writer’s art?
Why feed a writer’s art
when the appetite’s clearly insatiable?
I think in stiches, rows, paragraphs and stanzas,
and I’m not one to undershoot a thesis.
I can’t seem to just write a paper for school,
I have to craft some kind of narrative
- it’s practically involuntary.
Last week was ‘All Saints’ school break. It was a week in France that, like fall, shifted the temperature - cooling the pace, so Peter (my bf) and I could take a breath and metabolize the changes of the past few weeks, where we both moved to Paris - changing schools and jobs. We’ve had big feelings - it was a lot.
Peter’s content with my tireless run on the hamster wheel of education - he has a PhD, so he understands the grind and my often prickly, acerbic and deeply abstracted school-day moods.
He’s on a steep learning curve himself, these days, living suddenly in an all-French world, where every sign and menu is semi-unreadable. We’re working on it - we’ll get there because his tutor gives excellent rewards for effort.
.
.
Songs for this:
Take On Me by Josh Whitehouse
Poor Boy - Nick Drake
Window - Still Woozy
.
.
*For instance , I’ll find myself trying to form a narrative, in response to a clinical case scenario, meant to demonstrate my diagnostic reasoning.
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