adulthood: the realization that the cute, charming, idiosyncratic characteristics of oneself that once was integral to note during a 'ritual of love' no longer seems recognizable even to its originator. And, more words than is necessary to describe stuff.

tiny dancer

Awareness, the hyperreal, fragmentation, performing self, reflections, obscure and transparent light, labyrinthine constructions, centering, balance, the breath between chaos and order, alienation, rebirth..... these are just a few of the words that came up today during my visit with my homeopath as we navigate the 'me' that 'is', attempting to decipher what kind of an "organism" I am (her choice of word, and interesting at that) in the process of finding a remedy for my sleepy thyroid. What strikes me, what shocked me, about these terms (of which there were plenty more) is the close resemblance they bear to actual essay topics I've engaged over the last few years. As if I've been writing myself out of a mystery, merely to become entwined again into an alternate universe of mysteries.

We are such fascinating creatures, us turtles, clams and elephants. Such magnificent things.

It also turns out that my love, obsession rather, with miniatures allows me the ideal perspective and additionally calms my soul. Love tiny spoons and books. I could spend all day in this library, tending the fire and running my fingers along the tiny leather spines.



To create a little flower is the labor of ages
~Blake

strange, surreal world it is, living with the effects of a thyroid condition. Feeling weak, but that creative type of weak where things appear less vibrant and are somehow given to rests in time. More drawn out, more specific. As if I'm suddenly in a Picasso painting, able to navigate the inner workings of the artist, or of the complex arrangements of particles and chemicals at once united into the paint. Unity. And fibres of silence. And rest, so enticing. Stalled air. Large cool glasses of water. Vested in feathery bed, with best friend purring. Need some energy soon. Homeopath will visit next week. Feel like I'm typing a telegram. Stop.

I have embarked on my academic teaching career. Today I gave my first official lecture to a group of 75 students on the subject of Wordsworth, the sublime (one of my favorites), and tenets of Romanticism. The only thing lacking was Puccini filling out the background. Alienation, individualism, Turner paintings, apocalyptic revolution and "spontaneous powerful feelings"... as if I were made to teach this stuff. Fabulous.

It took a lot longer to prepare a lecture than I'd anticipated. Good lessons learned today. Do not overwhelm students with too much information, do not be too verbose, and ensure quotes are precise. Good good.

And now, to return to the pile of work awaiting my tired little head, which I shall soon rest, after cleaning my pile of neglected dishes of course, and after marking the tests that have been lying in wait, of course.

But first, I must attend to some Verdi.