Feeling: changed
Listening to: A New Spring, by Robert Jordan
Reading/Watching: it's sort of the same thing...

I always thought there would be choirs singing and fireworks and pounding hearts and fragile shyness and absolute beauty.

But some milestones come and go with quiet and joyful tears, and the sense that now you belong to someone.

I managed to get the ring off Saturday with the help of patience, a high pain threshold, and Pantene Pro-V Curl Moisturizing conditioner. I made a triumphant "hah!" once it ravaged my knuckle and slid easily over the last joint, then stuck my hand out of the shower, holding the little glittering thing between two fingers, calling mon coeur to come take it and put it away while I finished bathing.

We had picnic at the Grand Canyon at sunset. It took us three hours out of our way, cost $20 just to get in the area, and we wound up parking along the shoulder of the road and walking through the woods to find a convenient rocky outcropping surrounded by trees. But the canyon yawned gigantic and the sky was pink and gold and joggers smiled at our romance as they went past.

A group of twentysomethings walked by, and while the girls cooed over how sweet a sunset picnic was, one of the guys said mon coeur was making them look bad. As the group walked away, the guy called over his shoulder, "You are definitely gonna get... uh... brownie points for this one."

We laughed, and arrived at a ghetto-fabulous Motel 6 in Phoenix at one in the morning, where we slept for eight ecstatic hours (and cashed in some brownie points).

The next day, Sunday, was the last long haul: 983 miles, taking turns driving, listening to a book on CD that was Miller's graduation gift (A New Spring, by Robert Jordan).

In between the cracks of concentration, I daydreamed about milestones, and how I feel like I should be a different person from the one that left two weeks ago. And I thought about how in some ways, I am.

Comments? 0 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.