04 December 2009

you don't know what I fear

I'm completely lacking in inspiration. I don't know what to write about or where to find beauty. I'm tired and stressed and either imagining or experiencing doubt from my superiors at school. I'm dreaming of sparkly eye dust and twinkle lights and fire pits and hydrangeas and peacock feathers and fur muffs and lovely literature and wings of poetry and satin slippers and sepia tones and rose-colored glasses and words like "nebulous" and "ephemeral" and jazz vocals and full-throated ease and half-light and Bardot curls and British dandies and porcelain keys and key-lime gelato and little princess and chiffon swirls and capelets and raspberry coulis and Audrey and Grace and papercuts and eyelash flutters and soft caresses and zephyrs and snowflake droplets and lavender and hummingbirds...I feel like I haven't seen a hummingbird in ages.
In my dreams I'm bathed in violet light, and I have my pirate by my side, who whispers poetry to me in a voice so soft that it feels like a petal brushing my cheek. I'm light and airy and my insecurities are gone. Popsicle lips. Snow-dusted lashes. A velvet cape.
It's not about the pirate, although his company lends peace and pleasure, that deep-seated swoon from the inside out that I recapture in memories now. It's about me and my poetry, my voice, my crooning of Joni Mitchell ballads that float from mouth to sky like Sebastian's smoke in Brideshead Revisited.
I remember Oxford, stopping by The Grand Cafe for champagne tea and passing by the Botanical Gardens on my way to tutorials. I remember channeling Oscar Wilde and as I sipped tea and slipped into cushioned corners at The Old Parsonage. I want the Oxford of John Fowles, Graham Greene, and Evelyn Waugh. I long to fit again, to be certain of my place.
What do you do when you feel blue? Dearest readers, I am filled too much with longing and too little with satisfaction in being.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I feel totally the same way right now. It's like my entire face feels weighted down by this frown. I think its only the stressful sleepless finals period and just a lust for home again, but even still it depresses me that I'm so unmotivated and dead to inspiration. I'm either incredibly rambling and scatterbrained to the point where you could question my sobriety or very sullen and able to converse, but clearly not interested in the conversation I'm having. I'm sure I'm irritating to be around because I'm even irritating myself right now haha. UGG

I dunno if this is a symptom of being at college in a big city (DC as you know), but when I'm down I tend to watch movies or read books about Americana. Big roadtrip movies like Elizabethtown or books like "Travels With Charley" by John Steinbeck (a memoir of his crosscountry drives with his dog). Maybe I'm just homesick or DC isn't the right place for me, but...that's my best remedy