Clouds in My Coffee

I took a paper to the Algebra tonight to work on. It's been a particularly difficult paper, mostly because it's in a subject I have zero love for (particle physics) and partially because the professor doesn't already love me and therefore will let me get away with writing whatever the hell paper I want thinly disguised as the paper assigned. It is most frustrating.

As I sat at the counter making a list of sources, I thought about how much writing this paper resembled the pulling of teeth or fingernails or other difficult-to-pull things, and suddenly I turned over my list and dumped out the e.e. I posted earlier, word for word, easy as breathing. Then I sat there and stared at it. It's one of my favorite pieces of poetry, easily, and one of the most powerful I've ever read.

There was a time when I would have said--"that's me, that's who I am, poetry on the back of physics." Now I'm not sure I'm either of those things. I don't feel like a poet very often anymore, and it's been a long time since physics held any magic for me. I miss the days of childlike wonder, of joy--of pure and simple, consuming joy.

On the other hand, now there's this sort of gritty adult pleasure in doing something completely and doing it very, very well. I feel like I'm going through life with my brow furrowed and my teeth slightly gritted, as opposed to standing still with wide eyes and open mouth in wonder. I still feel slightly cold.

Lately I feel conflicted about love--that maybe I do believe in it, but only as it applies to other people. That I'm not sure anyone will ever love me the way I believe I've loved (and been loved) in the past. That maybe I'm not even capable of loving anymore--at the age of twenty-two, I'm jaded enough to think it might be true and amused enough by my own hyperbole to know it's probably not.

And shameful to admit, but that I want it. I want to be in love again. Life may be stable now but it's also dull--and I miss the brightness. I'm no longer convinced this is the best way.