I don't want to work. In fact, right now, I wish I had an internet boyfriend. Someone that was willing to chat incessently with me on IM from wherever he existed in the world. Someone that made me get all riled up when the orange light dings. It can be our secret. I would like to have a secret right now.
But alas, I am just blogging. Sipping a diet coke, thinking about the work I should be doing, ignoring the chatter of 5 year olds in the hallway, suppressing that teacherly instinct that would normally make me jump up and hunt down the loud ones in order to force contrite hallway repentance.
I'm thinking about all the poems, pictures, music and words that I lost in the harddrive debaucle of 2008 and wishing that I wasn't feeling nostalgic for Salt Lake right now. Or rather, I want to just melt into the nostalgia and look at pictures of my old apartment, my old life, my old work but I can't.
It's spring here. The trees exploded over the weekend. I want to write an urban pastoral poem about it. I don't take good pictures, well not artistic ones anyway so I'm left trying to describe it in words.
Pink fireworks/ quickly thrown buildings outlined in cherry blossoms/ then simple yellow trickling from bent branches, heavy with the weight of regeneration/ the defeat of angles/ the ascent of probable and maybe/ I will view this river brown water / it will continue / where I walk.
Ok, maybe I'm not good at that either. I guess you'll just have to come to Korea to really experience it. I like it here.