too much of a good thing
I'm feeling pretty fortunate as I sit here in the casual study wing of my school's library with a 180 degree view of the gorgeous and currently misty Tryon Creek State Park which this campus abuts. I've been staring dreamily out into that mist for almost an hour, catching sight of occasional robins and bluejays, noting the striking red hollyberries among the dark, waxy leaves and amazed by the varieties of moss and lichen which cover almost everything out there. It's pretty fucking gorgeous.
I was chastised by an Austrailian woman recently for saying "potty-mouth" -- b/c, apparently, "potty" is a word in her country reserved for those under the age of 3 and it seemed silly and embarassing to hear it come from the mouth of an adult. It is, I guess, one of many American quirks that make English-speaking foriegners shake their puzzled heads. Hmm. Regardless. I have a potty mouth. Thus, the woods are fucking gorgeous.
I can't write about the thing I sat down to write about -- having too much of a good thing. I can't make my fingers type any words on the subject. Like the repellant poles of magnets, my mind veers left or right but won't connect. I have much too much to assimilate. SK has short-circuited my internal wiring. I'll need a little time and space to rewire.
Tonight, instead of going to the L word at the dyke bar with SK as originally planned, I will go, much later, out for a drink with Mog in a neighborhood bar. Mog, who graduated from law school last spring and passed the bar last summer, has been, for many months now, *not* practicing law at all. I'm finding myself, suddenly, not *wanting* to practice law at all. And I have sought Mog out, like Obi Wan Kenobi, to give me some sage advice on living with a useless J.D. -- How does she feel at this point working at a coffeeshop post law-school? How did she relax into this "lawless" life? What are her plans? I need to know. My future, it seems, depends on it.
Until then, I will be a good law student. I am on campus. I will go work on the last of my internship project. Then I will actually begin the research for my big project this semester. I was going to write about the legal struggles of transgendered people, but now I'm thinking I might write about the legal struggles of the intersexed (once called 'hermaphordites')... those kids from the queer youth group brought up the subject last week and it looks pretty fucking interesting, to keep up w/ my potty mouth. So... we'll see.
I was chastised by an Austrailian woman recently for saying "potty-mouth" -- b/c, apparently, "potty" is a word in her country reserved for those under the age of 3 and it seemed silly and embarassing to hear it come from the mouth of an adult. It is, I guess, one of many American quirks that make English-speaking foriegners shake their puzzled heads. Hmm. Regardless. I have a potty mouth. Thus, the woods are fucking gorgeous.
I can't write about the thing I sat down to write about -- having too much of a good thing. I can't make my fingers type any words on the subject. Like the repellant poles of magnets, my mind veers left or right but won't connect. I have much too much to assimilate. SK has short-circuited my internal wiring. I'll need a little time and space to rewire.
Tonight, instead of going to the L word at the dyke bar with SK as originally planned, I will go, much later, out for a drink with Mog in a neighborhood bar. Mog, who graduated from law school last spring and passed the bar last summer, has been, for many months now, *not* practicing law at all. I'm finding myself, suddenly, not *wanting* to practice law at all. And I have sought Mog out, like Obi Wan Kenobi, to give me some sage advice on living with a useless J.D. -- How does she feel at this point working at a coffeeshop post law-school? How did she relax into this "lawless" life? What are her plans? I need to know. My future, it seems, depends on it.
Until then, I will be a good law student. I am on campus. I will go work on the last of my internship project. Then I will actually begin the research for my big project this semester. I was going to write about the legal struggles of transgendered people, but now I'm thinking I might write about the legal struggles of the intersexed (once called 'hermaphordites')... those kids from the queer youth group brought up the subject last week and it looks pretty fucking interesting, to keep up w/ my potty mouth. So... we'll see.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 10:37 AM
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