Over a Bridge

Confused, conflicted, what’s another word that begins with C? Alliteration is more effective when it comes in threes.

I’ll ponder that for a moment.

Today felt like a dream. Not a nice dream though, not dreamy, but not a nightmare either. Rather, it was a slow, sluggish daze. Today was hazy and heavy, like that moment when you wake up from a deep sleep, only partially conscious, your head like a cement brick.

I drifted from each class and through each hour. I didn’t notice much. I was terribly unfocused though I managed to go through the motions; contributing to seminars, taking notes, raising a point or two about postmodern literature, etc. But nothing really stuck, nothing landed, solidified in my mind. I felt, in one word, disconnected.

I’m in a fog. And it goes on for as I can see, as far as I can look ahead. Which, albeit, at this stage, is not very far at all. I figure if I was not outwardly present then maybe I was too inward, too internally focused.

Regardless of my ‘haze’, I walked home in the chilly September wind, happy that summer hasn’t made an early appearance just yet. I wrapped myself in a long scarf, looping it around twice before tossing it over my left shoulder. It blew in the wind, flailing behind me as I walked across the bridge, over the Torrens, which, surprisingly, didn’t smell too bad today. Earlier I walked over another bridge where couples, people, people in love had inscribed, initialled, engraved, fastened locks and assumedly, thrown away the key.

Thinking about bridges I should probably get over it.

Perhaps alliteration is overrated.

 

Captive.

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Morning 18/7/17

This morning, the sight of a blank page was promising.

Ideas came freely, open, into my brain and out of my pen seamlessly. I think I’m better at writing in the morning. More likely, I’m just less awake and therefore incapable of feeling any pressure to be good. A usually overactive mind at this stage has only a few concerns; keep eyes open, yawn, get coffee, write. Continue reading Morning 18/7/17

Inadequacy

I sat in a dingy cafe yesterday and ordered the world’s worst coffee. I didn’t want to go anywhere trendy, or hip, or whatever word we’re using right now to describe “cool”. I didn’t want or deserve cool.

I deserved linoleum flooring, chewing gum stuck to the underside of the table, fluorescent lighting that buzzes incessantly and coffee that tastes more like commercial grade cleaning agent.

That’s what I got.

Inadequacy is an odd feeling. It’s difficult to place. It’s like jealousy’s weaker cousin that’s been sent to do the dirty work.

God does my laundry pile up.

The Value of Libraries

Give me a place with books and a bit of tranquil calm and I’ll be happy.

In libraries, silence isn’t deafening. Silence in libraries is the faint clicking of keyboards, the slow and careful turn of pages, the occasional cough or sniff from someone else and the very, very distant hum of the world outside. As I type this, I am seated in such a library. This section, in particular, is steeped in Victorian architecture and when you’re as much of a history and book nerd as I am, you can’t help but feel much more elated writing an essay here than you would at home.  Continue reading The Value of Libraries

Wandering

The thing about me is that I’m easily amused.

I’m not at all exaggerating when I say that one of my favourite things to do is to walk aimlessly around my city. Whenever I have a spare moment, perhaps an hour between classes, I’ll leave the confines of the campus and venture forth into the known, because I do this often and have come to know the grid of my city like the back of my hand. Continue reading Wandering