It arrived on Saturday, around one o'clock in the afternoon. I sat down around two and began to read. Yesterday, after a marathon effort, my glasses were back on, the iPod was back off, and I was in the know about what happened at the end of it all.
It's been a tumultuous number of years. He first crept his way onto my bookshelf back when I was working at the toy store. I walked by him countless times before I finally decided to pick up his story and begin something I wouldn't understand until quite a few years later, but I was totally hooked.
As time went on, I became more and more restless. I trolled the internet for "spoilers". I visited websites that had countdowns to movie premier dates running. I even looked for bootleg copies, before the pages were supposed to be on the shelves. That was reckless.
While restlessly turning the last pages over this past weekend, a calm came over me. This was it. No more of him. No more of his funny-named friends, or his often overly angsty situational dioramas. No more pages to turn.
So there's the mixture. Elation in the knowing. Regret in that there would be no new words to read - and that I read these last few so quickly. But elation wins out, because I adored every minute of it, and I wouldn't have done it any other way.
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