Hunger Games: the day after

the thing i hate (detest, despise, absolutely abhor) about good books is that they always go away. and you have no one to blame but a back cover (for being there) and your own eyes for not moving slower. and what good would going slower do? the stack of pages grasped in my left hand would only get thicker no matter the pace of my pupils. I just finished reading The Hunger Games yesterday (Monday) after buying it Sunday afternoon. I was just starving, fighting, running, killing and now i'm back on my couch eating grapes with socks on. i hate that. and no, the phrase "all good things must come to an end" doesn't really cut it.

also feel like i should be able to say "bye" to someone; be able to write someone letters after such a departure or have a few handy photographs hanging around somewhere to remember and reminisce but Katniss isn't a someone. She's only words on a page. Isn't that heartbreaking to think about? I remember feeling this same way about Harry (Bella, Jonas, Frodo, Tom, Anne) once upon a time.

i can't get no

all things are full of weariness;
a man cannot utter it.
the eye is not satisfied with seeing
the ear is not satisfied with hearing.

ecclesiastes 1:8

It's a sleepy night. Eric's been snoozing* for a solid hour and I'm still

trying to get myself under the covers. I appreciated this verse tonight
when I opened to Ecclesiastes. I know I always try to find uplifting verses
full of promises and sunshine (unicorns, summer vacations that never end...)
but tonight I enjoyed the "I hear ya." sentiment. It's a weary world. Sit tight.

*snoozin' and treats. treats and snoozin'. (just a lil Marcel the Shell shout out.)

the heartbeat of life again

While I've been ignoring this blog (I apologize to my few + faithful readers ) during the past couple months, I've been mailing many many handwritten, real life thank you notes. Thank you for coming, thank you for my graduation gift, thank you for my christmas gift, thank you for hangin in there with me and every other sort of gratitude-infused message.

While I'm thankful for everyone in my life-- people who come to see me, people who get me beautiful things, people who look out for me and encourage me -- I am also completely relieved that the season of getting, giving, seeing, wrapping, shopping is over and that life has resumed a quiet lull. If this lull were a color it would be grey. A beautiful color to sit in after the array of neons that proceeded it. It's back to Eric and me and my slippers in the evening. I can dust or read or switch the lamp and the couch around because that's what I feel like doing.

It's here that I can feel the heartbeat of life again. I can hear myself think and begin to, gingerly, gather all my thoughts together and craft a direction and dream for myself. I use the word dream lightly. For instance, if I dream about making a hair appointment, I am allowed the freedom to do so. Similarly, when I dream about moving back to the East Coast, I also feel the freedom to begin inching in that direction. The fog of academics and holiday frenzy has finally been lifted and I can put my sails up once again in the life-giving, cool breeze of a hushed mid january.