Well, hello again little blog!

I have been neglecting this humble little corner of the internet that I call my personal blog. I don't really have much of an excuse except for the usual "I was busy; life is complicated; zombies; school comes first; I was struggling with crippling anxiety and depression; I am lazy; I was fighting the Silence; I graduated and am preparing to move to London; etc."

But  here I am again. Back on the purple couch, watching old re-runs of Friends that I've seen dozens of times before. Well, I'll be here for the next two weeks at least. Then I really am flying to England to start my Masters and King's College, London. It will be the second time I'll be moving to England...this time I don't really have any plans to return. That is pretty darn scary. I haven't exactly stopped to comprehend this huge life event, but I'm sure I'll be back here in about a month with lots to say on the matter.

The news from my world: I am graduated; I am starting my Masters in a month; I am applying to PhD programs for next year; I have a new boyfriend; I am broke; and, most importantly, I have completed the 50 Books Challenge and have now read 56 books this year.

I suppose each of those things could use its own blog post but I don't have the patience for such an endeavour at the moment. Instead I will just continue on as if I were never absent and record my life as I always do, with no routine or reason for my rambling.

Today I only have this poem to share. I didn't write it...although I have been considering whether or not  to post some of my own poems here. This poem is just very nice and I wanted to share something in this post so it isn't just a worthless "apology for being away" post. Now it is a poem appreciation post.

I like this poem because it captures the moments that are saturated with something we can't see or touch or understand, but we know something's there. Those are the moments we are most human.

Categories of Understanding by Catherine Barnett

I'm studying the unspoken. 
"What?" my son asks. 
"What are you looking at?" 
But there is no explaining, 
I can only speak the way light 
falls, the way the cotton sheet 
lays itself over his sleeping or resting 
or dissolving body, touching him with 
its ephemera, its oblivion.