I had a lovely domestic Christmas (there's a rant in there somewhere about the relationship between me and domesticity, but it's gotten all tangled up along the way), a cozy New Year's, and I just passed a year and a half with my boyfriend. I've just started in on a semester that looks like it will be somewhat challenging but informative and ultimately productive.
In other words, everything is going pretty damn dandy. Which means, of course, that some messy complication is about to round the corner full speed and knock everything out of my grasp. But these things do happen.
I won't lie; being content makes me a little itchy. I find myself idling over the price of airplane tickets or craigslist postings for apartments and jobs in more romantic cities. If no one is looking, I crack open unlocked doors just to make sure they don't lead to Narnia. (No, I don't do that--I'm too much a coward, and that's the problem.) I am torn between crazy week-long benders that end with me waking up in Toronto or Istanbul and plodding along to maintain my grade point average that they tell me will get me somewhere someday.
But this itchiness has been mitigated recently by my meanderings back into the world of poetry. If I can climb and adventure and do crazy loop-de-loops with my mind, then surely I can stay where I am with my body... for now.
Creative product wise: Planning to work on my formal poetry, hoping to improve my meter and general sense of things poetic. Taking a poetry writing class will force me to actually produce this semester. ...meybe?
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