I’ve been home for almost a month now. Today I made rhubarb jam and started to clean the gazebo. I’ve also gotten started with Vivi’s cardigan, finally. It’s been a good Saturday.
But I’m tired. It happens a lot now. I think, ever since I started the master’s program almost three years ago. Any time I’m not studying or working, I feel tired. I’m fine cooking while tired. And knitting. Knitting goes splendidly with being tired and watching a simple movie. But writing doesn’t. Writing requires the same parts of my mind as work does, and my work being so intense, there’s no energy left in there to write. And the blog stays un-updated.
It’s starting to become a problem, I think. You see, I grew into this writing. Ever since I was 12, when I started working on my first (unfinished) novel, I’ve been writing. Any important thing that I’ve experienced, any powerful feeling that I’ve felt, I’ve written about. I think that’s how I’ve learned to deal with life.
But now, when I’m not writing, it’s like the days breeze past without leaving a mark. As if, when I don’t write about what I’ve felt and experienced, it isn’t real. As if it’s the writing that ingrains my experiences in my memories, not the being in the middle of them when they happen.
I feel like time passes without me noticing.
But mostly, I miss it. I watch shows on TV about European cultural history, I listen to podcasts about books, and I miss feeling active in that part of the human experience. I’m not only a scientist. I also have a need to create.
Summer is coming. Things will slow down. I will make myself the time to build words into sentences for you, tell you about my latest trip to West Africa. This is a promise to myself.
Katja Malmborg 