The old graduate school try

I still find it hard to begin again. Every day, right now, may be a stretch since I am trying to wean myself off my computer dependency (it helps to have television again) and am trying to get in the habit of not keeping it on all the time which unfortunately conflicts with writing right before I go to bed (which I don't turn my computer on to do). This blather is not why you read though (I hope) so I'll try to get to some sort of point. I must be tired to digress like this...

I have wondered why I find it harder to write than in the spring. It could be an exhaustion of ideas, but since I can apparently prattle on about nothing forever my mind should be rife with options. It could be that I'm worn down from classes and grading and ultimate and trying to balance my personal life but most of those factors existed in the spring also and yet I was not impeded. It could be that I have lost my sense of obligation to my unseen audience, my void, which I note in my less pressing moments of guilt when I lie in the dark or scramble to class and think to myself forgot again. It could be that the subtle fulfillment of married life and more time with Ethan has removed any need I have for vicarious connection with the outside world as I retreat slowly to inner comfort. I imagine that none of these and all of these are true - whatever the case may be I have always been proud of my promises however I may falter during the course. If my mother's fifty-odd year friend can join the cross-country team at her community college and shave off three minutes between her first and second 5k race (after not running competitively for at least ten years and having at least one foot surgery) surely I can sit back at my keyboard under the harsh fluorescent lights, look out my window at the leaves (no more planes!) and think of a few words, however light and slender, to drop onto the page.