Dear friend

When I finish a book, I get what a high school friend of mine and I refer to as a "book high." It becomes my favorite book, and I want everyone I know to read it and share it and love it like I do.

I just finished re-reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

It's funny how much your place in the world can change a book. I loved it in college, and I loved it this week as I read it, but it was an entirely different book each time. I feel like it's a very quotable book, and I want to tweet/blog/whatever all sorts of bits from it, but then I'm afraid they'll be less perfect out of context. This one, though, I've always loved:

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.



I finally started to attempt to clean my room tonight, make it nice again, and in the process I discovered one of the reasons I've been putting it off: Eric is everywhere. Movie stubs, receipts from Beirut and The Source, a map to his brother's wedding with a handwritten note, my hastily-created anniversary card. And that's not even including the chair full of things I brought home from his apartment, the box of things so important I took them pretty much as soon as I could but now can't bear to look through.

Some days are great. Some days I just cry. Some days, like today, are mysterious combinations thereof.



Ha! You're going to think I'm lying, but as I was sitting here, looking at this post, wondering what last sentence I should throw in here, Ingrid Michaelson's Be OK came on mypod.

Thanks, universe.