Little darling, it seems like years since its been here

So often lately, I wish I had something to say.

Several times I've awaken staring at a blinking cursor, or at the strange new way my journal lies open since I broke its binding, only to realize minutes have come and gone without my notice. I've sat in my familiar way with my usual tools but somehow haven't marked the page at all. Blankness abounds.

Now, I've grown used to the idea that I don't often know what to do with myself or where to put my hands. I am fairly comfortable with being inelegant, and I'm quite sure no one knows what the hell they're doing most of the time anyway. My pants, it seems, are awkward, but letters, words and sentences have poured smoothly onto paper for as long as I can recall. They're rarely clever or profound, but they're mine and from that I've gained confidence. From assuredness sprouted more words, sentences and paragraphs until I found a rhythm. Enraptured by the tune, I discovered pages and pages. Every so often on a pay stub or in the back pages of class notes, I'll stumble upon something I wrote accidentally, thoughts I cannot recall having scrawled in the blue ink from those Writing Center pens I love so much. I feel a secret affection for strangers who possess a similar habit; I know I am not alone.

But lately the corners and backs of my papers have remained clean.

Over and over I'm asked about my impending service in the Peace Corps, which is appropriate since I can think of little else, but over and over again I have nothing to say. Perhaps it is the enormity of the change or its incomprehensible uncertainty. It might as easily be the extinction of the world I've known or the dismay I've felt from missing friends. It could be simple doubt, but I never once expected to feel the absence of my own handwriting.

None of this is to say that I am anything short of thrilled about my opportunity in Niger; I fail equally to express my elation and my qualms.

I am only asking for your continued patience as I wrestle with this brittle suspense.