Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I finished the Donne chapter at the end of November, and immediately took off for 2 weeks with Neruda, doing a brief research stint at the Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana (hee! so much fun!) and then getting the hell out of the city of my Hephaistian incarceration to Florence (sigh of relief),
and then to the utter silence and desertion of this other place, a medieval hilltop walled town.
I've been home for a few days, and I have to say, I am just not feeling the urgency of my leave's ending like I should be. My brain is worn out. I should be ligamenting a couple of chapters together, but I'm just fried, just done. And I'm not even sure I can work up anxiety about my done-ness.
Instead, I've been trying to find shoes that will go with the irrationally excellent outfit that Neruda decided he wanted to buy me for Christmas. As you know, I don't shop. But we had an usually fabulous time clothes-shopping for me in Florence, and I came home with this extravagantly beautiful skirt and coat, requiring extravagantly elegant shoes. I think I found them today.
I've made fagiolini soup and golden beet salad, I've made glitter ornaments for the tree with the Things, I've Skyped Neruda, I've read a little bit in an Icelandic mystery. I've had some printed pages from the chapter I should be working on within arm's reach all day. Haven't touched it. Probably I should be getting worried, time's winged chariot at my heels and all that. But I'm sick of the inside of my damned head.