I guess there isn't any "right" way to reconvene. I haven't even been sitting here for long and already I've worked up anxiety about my words, their order and resonance. A reminder of my own logophilia? Lll lll lll lll. Making love with the sounds.
Upon everything else I've not been nearly as productive as I told myself I'd be - Walter B. remains largely unread, stuffed in my knapsack; our new apartment wants for a plump kitchen stool, reading chairs, rugs, various found items to be used as coathooks and storage; this delayed posting; a lag in written correspondence in the process of being righted; and various written projects for work and school that deserve all my attention but received only a fraction of it. I keep telling myself it's all because my brain won't work right now, it's so fatigued and overfull, and that this extended winter recess makes things seem more easygoing and less timely. My tired mind needs rest. This is my current indulgence.
How am I to deal with all that's happened since the end of the summer, when I locked this journal away? What of my wedding, bodily modifications, my unease and intense happiness? What do I expunge and what do I withhold?
For now I'm comfortable with unanswered questions. Graduate school fosters my curiosity at the cost of the sublime and all that's inexplicable and important. I've not made any New Year's resolutions and won't, but two-thousand-twelve already seems strange -- different in a petrifying way, the best way.