January 14, 2012
Poem: The Trees, Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Stepping into my apartment for the first time in a month is a startling thing. I'd forgotten how my apartment smelt- dusty, woodsy, pale in the sunlight that slides in through the window shutters. I've been suffering from the most APPALLING jetlag, which is extremely annoying because my jetlag is usually more of an excuse rather than an actual affliction, but I guess serves me right for lying all these years.
This semester, I feel entirely unprepared for. I have yet to begin my consulting prep which is really terrible. I can't muster up the confidence, excitement, or inspiration to begin- all I've been doing since coming back is tending to the little domestic day to days, like doing heaps of laundry, buying notebooks, cooking, eating, falling asleep in front of movies. Showering. I think I have yet to forgive myself for the insanity of last semester and my body is rebelling against splitting itself to do work once again. But I think in a couple of days- the slightness of a new semester, the tipping over into a new semester of academic rigour and incredible stress; this time right now is so fraught with anticipation and possibility that I really have nothing to complain about.
Picture of what I know is not of trees, but I think is a pretty picture anyway; taken by me on Montjuïc in Barcelona.