Friday, March 18, 2005


I've discovered that I have a threshold for Roanoke. [Note that this is the third blog in less than a week. This is not meaningless] For the first few days, being here is utterly lovely. My family is here, the mountains are here, the house is quiet, I have no responsibilities, and I think it's wonderful. And really, it is wonderful. I begin to think that I could live here indefinitely, spend my days walking and writing, gazing at the mountains and thinking uncannily brilliant thoughts. (I was reading Kathleen Norris last week, who apparently spends her time doing just that, so she was probably influential in these daydreams.) I am happy, rested, and fulfilled, and it is wonderful...

For exactly one week.

Then, lethargy sets in. Walking, writing, and gazing slowly morph into sitting, sleeping, and lounging. I realize that this "break" is no longer a restful sabbath, but an all-out wallow in laziness. This realization, instead of offering motivation to rise up off my laurels and write those two papers due the day I return, complete licensing paperwork, or find summer employment, has the opposite effect. I get angry. At myself. For wallowing. Anger leads to frustration, which turns to snide comments and whining, and I'm mollified only by another hour or so in front of the television. It's a sad, sad cycle.

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