I wrote in my diary today (the one in the picture) that I was feeling nothing. Within me there was just a vast desert of emotionless stillness.
I've always found the start of terms daunting, and one of the reasons being that things never really seem to get going at uni for a couple of weeks. And for someone who prides themselves on 12 to 14 hour days and sees only my self-worth in doing things, this makes the first couple of weeks at uni unbearable. On top of all of that, and I feel stuck in my house because of new Covid restrictions. I was thinking today how nice it would be to have a 15 minute walk to a study space on campus and not a 1 second plod over to my desk in my room.
As I said in my last blog post, I'm going to allow myself to have bad days and mood swings. And yes, I am allowing myself to do that, but I also want to be able to have good days too. Instead, all the news and reluctance to feel settled in my own university has made for a rather odd set of circumstances and feeling within me.
We are in a somewhat liminal state. Halfway normal and yet, as far away from normality as we possibly could. Perhaps that is why I feel this state of nothingness.
Or perhaps, I am slowly getting used to living with more than my parents after six months.
Or perhaps, I am coming to terms with this new way of learning and teaching.
Or perhaps, I am just trying to get along in a new world where there is no right or wrong, instead there is only progress and time passing.
Perhaps, just perhaps.
I wrote a poem last night, having been influenced by the twenty-three WW1 poems I was analysing for work. Reading this through, I can sense the apathy lifting off the page. The words that are dripping with a numbing sensation that doesn't quite add up to what the words and their individual meanings really mean. I do care. Deep down. And I am feeling, just right now, I'm trying to get through this all. And I'm trying not to crumble too much in the process.
A Chance
Tinny voices
I hope I can hear them soon,
Not through the way I have been made to use,
But with my own ears.
How I long for the creased eyes,
Bright smiles and laughter from within,
The Easter napkins and bone knives.
I miss the things I never thought I’d miss
The gentle chime of four o’clock
And the skidding carpet.
No more so than the cups of coffee to warm me through.
I do not care for the way or the manner,
The occasion or party does not matter.
I wish only to be normal
And to chat with excitement for what may be
And not for the anticipation of what it will bring.
Will this be the last time?
Have I missed my chance at a real goodbye?
Was my last hug, high-five or a hand clasp
A time when I did not appreciate?
Did I take for granted the times I could have been in a room,
Talking and laughing only to realise that simple pleasure is to be stripped
Before I had a chance to enjoy it one last time.
The winter draws close,
I feel the bite and sting at my fingertips,
But this does not compare to the sting of my heart
As it longs to be with you.
Darkness and mist are not my friends,
And nor are they yours.
Oh, how I long to sit with you.
Will that ever happen again?
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