Am I outgrowing my passion for poetry? Otherwise how could I feel so tired of the texts I'm studying and going to study for the dissertation and the research afterward?

The email interview with the Canadian poet started in a way worse than I expected, and the ongoing q-and-a bores me to the degree that I wanted to shout: give me something new and fresh and painful and profound and exhilarating and shiningly red and golden as the maple leaves! To him or to myself, I don't know, though. Must be my fault--stupid questions make boring interviews, don't they?

My interest in film as an art form seems completely gone. The other day I was in the public library, returning Eugene's books and trying to find something new for him. I suddenly came across a whole collection of Ingmar Bergman. Three or four years ago I would have definitely checked them out. The dvd's looked quite new, tempting indeed. But the current me! -- I picked some from the collection, read a bit of the blurbs and then just put them back, saying to myself: well, I don't have time to see them; probably won't forever.