Today, I think I lost the post-vacation brain glow. That’s ok, though, since I’ll be going to Japan in less than a month. We’ve settled back into routine, that routine that made me so happy and content right before going on vacation. Just a steady flow of uneventful days that blended together so seamlessly I couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, or what I did yesterday.

Is it necessary to change it up at all? I feel like maybe it’s a rut, or maybe it’s not. Maybe the boringness is finally what I needed to actually get some maybe, I don’t know, actual creative work done. I finished reading The Idiot by Elif Batuman today. We went to Barnes and Noble and I bought the sequel, plus a couple of other books: The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker and Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. While we were there, I read the back of a book about a schoolteacher who had a thing for fourteen year-old boys. The cover drew me in because it looked intentionally like a vagina, but it was just a buttonhole on some garment. The back of the book was the same buttonhole with a button in it. It was on the table labeled something like “Woman and the Void.” That’s also where I saw a copy of Either/Or, the aforementioned sequel. 

My boyfriend is in the other room working on his beats. I can see him through the door that’s ajar between the bedroom and the living room. Sometimes I worry I have an avoidant attachment style, but that’s a worry for another time. Right now, I’m trying to do something creative. To gratefully make use of the relative chill and routine I am steeped into. Of the domestically blissful moment.

And of course, I know, like all things, it won’t last forever. And maybe this isn’t boredom, but peace. And maybe I should feel what I’m feeling. And maybe finally do the things you’re supposed to do to get over writers’ block. And enjoy the precious moments where one of us makes tea in the morning, that kind of stuff. I just wish it wasn’t so humid and hot.

I like to see him create. It’s in a way that’s foreign to me, but makes so much sense in like the way it appeals to the senses. But I don’t know the mechanics that go into it, the astronomer’s lecture or whatever that poem was that we read in high school about the charts and graphs and gliding out and staring in perfect silence at the stars.