Come again another day

Someone turn on the lights, open the windows, change the bedcovers, please! I hate this weather! A week of rain, I realize, is something I can't bear. Not when in and out of the hours are papers to check, books to read, and the Norton Anthology of Criticism to plow through. Three more weeks before the big day of reckoning and I'm barely panicked. Did a dry-run of cramming last night, though, when I had to finish the advisory marks and I got to sleep at 5 am already.

I miss waking up early in the morning. But ever since the new schedule this semester, I've been waking up at noon, with half the day already gone, and things hardly done. The closest I could do, I guess, was to stay up till morning, and wait for a half-willing sun to come up. Now, if only the clouds would cooperate.

The past few days have been dizzying and sad. The unfinished collection hangs on a balance, and I've thought of withdrawing it for some future date. My instincts tell me it will take more than a few days to address the concerns (and limitations) raised in those poems, and that the work will demand more than a sharpening of the pencil, or a change in word, or a quick consult of the dictionary. I get the sickening feeling this has to do with that grand word, "vision". But that, I guess, is a topic for another day. Or maybe should be better left unsaid. That way the urge to change works in its blindfolded whim as it drags me through the days.

Is that a table I just bumped into? I think I've been closing my eyes all these years.