hidden things

tonight, the problem with poetry is that i can't blurt out what i'm feeling while somehow living up to a poetic ideal of artistry. that is to say, i like words and playing with them, but all i am feeling sounds so grieviously sentimental when written in the raw, and i have no good linguistic motivation tonight to figure out how to reconcile what i want to say with the way i want to say it.

i don't know what i'm doing here right now. and by here i mean pts. and by pts i mean school at all. i am feeling burned out on God, but really i am burned out on school, and school just happens to be about God, and so the chain of weariness goes on and on. the discipline of school is too much for me. homework is impossible, not in content, but in motivation, and i don't feel much like pursuing friendships like i used to. i get lonely sometimes (or often), but there's nothing pushing me to enter into the social life here. there is a lot that goes on, i hear people talking and watch them interact, but i don't feel motivated to be a part of it unless invited, and even then i can't wait to get back to my room.

don't call me antisocial or even depressed. don't call me burnt-out or disillusioned. just let me be tired and unmotivated, let me desire some romantic post-college ideal of youthful searching after graduation, where you find a cheap apartment and a first job that you know won't last, and you spend more time being a lazy slob than being focused. something about that sounds gluttonous, but also refreshing.

or just let me be a newlywed, a wife, a woman who is content and fulfilled taking care of a husband and a home. i am not politically correct, and i am so liberated in my womanhood that i can choose to be a homebody. echoes of the refreshing noncommittal life, but with purpose and without gluttony.

it feels like time to settle and time to stop learning from books.