These days I'm less confused about the definitions and explanations of what art (or the spiritually artistic component of my person) is and more disturbed by my lack of participation in anything that (historically) vaguely resembles inspiration. Chris has echoed this in his own life. I don't feel acutely uninspired. That I could probably endure because it would be a kind of "anti-art" sentiment... which is at least hateful rather than apathetic. I am not sure that I can endure the intellectual and artistic lethargy that seem to have beset me. Why? Why am I here, like this? It's unbearable, one, to be in yet another "phase of transition" in which nothing is set for very long and certainly nothing is certain long-term. Second, my job (teaching 3rd grade) is legitimately so emotionally exhausting that I feel useless for any new developments; my whole day revolves around any new idea, any shocking display that I can use to jolt my kids into moments of decent behavior. Does that sound extreme? It's how I feel.
I don't mean to be dismal. I don't feel throbbing pulses of rain or streaming rays of sunshine... just a constant drizzle and a spark of expectation... because that is next will surely be good... but "now" is lasting longer than I anticipated... and I haven't added enough recognizably artistic or stimulating components into this life.
And this life is, for now, what is.
