Learning to love you more.

Twitterpated. There is a plethora of strange, potentially made up, adjectives that my mother has used my entire life and I consequently have picked up on. When I try to list them, I can't. They're just too good. You have to be there, hear them in context, smile because you know precisely what she means, and then store them in your oddball bank to use at a later time. This will help you become more like your mother, and trust me, this is a good thing.

Seeing the word Twitter in any context reminds me: I know nothing about that alternate dimension. I don't think I ever will. My friend Mark has tried to explain the concept and the benefits to me a handful of times but I still cannot seem to wrap my head around it. Sometimes I wonder what my father feels like when he goes to places like Facebook and enters a whole new world of information. I'm pretty sure what he feels is comparable to what occurs when I think about Twitter. Occasionally I will see the @ or # tags littering blogs or Facebook. That's about as well acquainted as I am. Hello high school football star. I know who you are, you sort of know who I am, but let's face it, we are never going to be friends. Maybe in English class I'll help you write complete sentences.

I started reading Learning to Love You More again yesterday. The two months I went without a smartphone, I stared blankly at my computer to pass the time. Books piled on my desk, but I didn't bother touching them. And then yesterday with my new attention averting device in tow, I reached for my book. I couldn't stop reading. Assignment 51 made me smile and feel hopeful that a person wants to be thrown in the forest and eaten by foxes when they die. It makes life seem... so. It is. It is fleeting and funny and circular and sad, not all at once and not always any of those. I cried when I read Assignment 31: Spend time with a dying person. It made me feel mortal and fleeting yet unstoppable and so full of joy.

I am so full of joy.