From my Phone...

Mellow day. Mayhaps it was even somber... I was too busy not talking and distracting myself to notice which.

And now I'm sitting on a window ledge outside at Borders, waiting for a ride home.

And I have to post this in spurts so my phone doesn't log me out.

Went and saw The Holiday today. I laughed and cried. Then I hated myself for relating to a chick flick. And because now I think Jack Black is mainly obnoxious, and not funny.

Then I walked to Borders, where I spent the day reading graphic novels by Craig Thompson. I really like his style. And his book Blankets is amazing. It moved me.

I want to go home and draw my own autobiographical comic book.

Sketchbook/journals were on sale for $4. I bought 3.

Maybe I'll do illustrated books of my poetry.

I felt outside of myself today. I keep going back to that quote from Everything Is Illuminated:

To write is to have second chances. What, then, do you mean when you say you were born to be a writer?

I have spent the last few years skirting the avoidable centers of my life. Now it's not just mine anymore, and I am plunging headlong into my personal Louisiana Purchase territory.

But it's okay now. I have found my Clark. And we shall explore it all together.

More and more I realize that my life to this point was just building. That the actual living doesn't happen until you're whole. And that you can't be whole until you find the person who completes you.

And while I rejoice in the prospect of excavating, scouting the dense jungles of my future life, I feel I have spent the week mourning my imminent departure from the world I will be leaving on the fringes.

There is much I have not the words, or presence of mind, to clearly articulate to that end.

Today I pondered the subtle, nuanced differences between familiarity and comfort.

And the difference between my then and now is defined by the noise of falling snow on fallen snow.

The sound of a change of heart is just as loud.