..you are quite literally going crazy for want of your obsession. when you are jonesing so badly that you feel you are about to simmer over.
i'm almost half way through my book-buying experiment. i've done far better than i had ever thought i could. yes, oh yes, i've wanted to buy books, but i have resisted. i have followed the rules. i have been true to myself and my experiment.
but life, it seems, doesn't care about my social-experiment. life has, frankly, been a bitch lately. i've been reeling, perpetually holding my breath and waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.
whenever i'm in a tailspin i tend to read poetry. i think it has something to do with all the many hours spent obsessing over papers about poetry in grad school. any time i would get too lost in my own analysis/thoughts/head, i could go back to the text and seek the answers there.
poetry is pure. it is simple. it is the essence of life.
yes, i would usually turn to poetry to sort my life out and feel better right now, but i can't. or i won't.
normally spenser, sydney, donne, wyatt and shakespeare get me through.
failing them, hughes, heaney and yeats seem to work.
but this time, no poet i've studied will suffice.
i need someone i enjoy, someone i respect, someone i've never had to critically interpret for a grade.
which leads to my problem: i want whitman.
leaves of grass is calling to me. it whispers its name on the wind--beckoning me towards the nearest bookstore.
the problem is that i cannot read poetry electronically. nor can i borrow a copy from a library or friend. i have to have a printed page in front of me, waiting and expecting annotations, notes, and insights. i must be able to scribble.
i can't provide that for myself right now--at least not from whitman, and it is literally keeping me up at night.
so for now whitman wind, i hope you find calm. i will get to you...eventually.
i hope that when i do you can offer me the fulfilling nature of your forbears.
until then (exactly 94 days from now), i guess i will make do with what i have.
unless someone would like to give me a lovely little leaves of grass gift...