suspension

Here I am, at home, in my wonderful bed (aka: my office). And yes, it's a Tuesday. It has been confirmed: I cannot write at night. I tried to do my writing for class last night (the not so fun one where I had to write about why Rilke's descriptions in his Letters on Cezanne are effective) and it just wasn't moving. Then R turned on the season finale of 24 and my productive mind was lost into the abyss.
This morning however, I woke up at 5 because I had been planning on going to the gym and then work. But in a dashing moment of rebellion, I decided I was going to call out sick and not feel guilty about it. So I got back in bed and stayed asleep till 7:40, at which point I got up, made coffee and was crackin on my paper by 8. R had already left, the studio was quiet and it was just me, Rilke and my laptop. I finished, read it over twice (I'll be reading it over again, trust me - no more proofreading faux pas for me) and the day is mine. Well, sort of. I do have to go into work and wash microarrays because Gabi is in New York and is the only other person who knows how to do it. Oh well, a small price to pay for a productive morning.
The more interesting part of the assignment was to write a letter to someone dear to us, in the manner of Rilke. I wrote 2 letters to Erin. Whether they are descriptive the way they are supposed to be, I don't know. But in a way I got out some things that I wish could be easily said - not that they are things which could be taken badly, but they have to do with my profound sense of failure when it comes to my friends, and the very reason why I become petrified at the idea of using the phone to call her. They are also very much about Bennington and the feeling of being in school and being free. That suspension in time. Which, incidentally, is kind of how I feel today that I am home working in the morning silence.

It's wonderful and I wish I could do it every day.