O there is blessing in this gentle breeze,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
To none more grateful than to me; escaped
From the vast city, where I long had pined
A discontented sojourner: now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.Wordsworth
Last night, found myself completely unable to move at a certain point—just paralyzed by built up ‘stress’—which is euphemism, or byword, for a much more complex set of feelings. Thus, I ended the week at a nadir (four plays in a row, plus many rehearsals and writing assignments and tutoring)—barely able to move, stuck at the axis between feeling everything and feeling nothing.
This happens to me sometimes. I go into deep freeze, then suddenly unthaw. I unthaw then slowly begin the process of freezing again. It’s an endless dialectic. But why? Why its does my soul seem to just have two seasons?