Tired, tired, tired.

So many ideas, but they're all slipping away from me. I can't seem to get anything down on paper. Everything is a stream of tiredness, there's no energy it's...

I'm still at work on my dissertation. I'm still puzziling out the relationship betwee the modernist movement in the arts, in this case specifically in literature, and the form of the modern city. The idea I took from Raymond Williams that originally set me off on this topic is still the most cogent I can find...that the city 'created' modernism, that all the communications technology, the institutions of the late nineteenth/early twentieth century city were the conditions that 'created' the artisitc forms of the (then) avant-garde.

But it's putting it all together that's a grind. Where at every turn you feel a desire to be rhapsodic, to 'write' the city, you have to box it in with footnotes and bibliography and jargon and deadlines and all the rest of it. The idea in my head and reality on the page are frustratingly different things.