I feel not so much lazy these days, as indolent. I am getting things done–I completed my last PhD application, my ninth, last week, I have found an excellent replacement for myself in my apartment, and he is excited about moving in, and I am sorting out my trip to the AWP conference–and listing all this makes me annoyed at myself, as if I need to prove my own value to someone, as if my days are owned by this other person, and I buy them back through toil. I resent the feeling but would also resent not feeling it.
Creatively, something definitely feels off. Obviously, there are good reasons for this. PhD programmes begin reporting back in February, and I am probably more nervous than I know. And much of my output back at the end of 2011 may have come through a pushing away of concerns that now must be answered, especially as my life in Philadelphia is imminently disintegrating.
I think of Keats, and his indolence ode, the rejoicing in it. And I am resting, savouring the city, the winter sun. Still, I am curious how long this phase will last.
Best wishes to you all.