Waiting

Stayed up late last night to write a short paper on Wordsworth. Found it all so strange a feeling to write about poetry again, or write in general -- familiar and yet dreadful. I even thought perhaps I don't want to write at all; I could simply leave it all behind me, because it is easy to leave. Sometimes I think that in itself is already an indication of my (lack of) commitment to many things I do -- and it is scary. So I'm not totally adverse to the thought that perhaps a day will arrive when I might realize that a life in academia is not for me. Alas, only time will tell.