That's just downright embarrassing.
I don't even know why I even came out and admitted this.
But the truly tear-jerking, shoulder-shaking, sob-worthy sadness of this whole post is that I'm only doing it because I happened to make a deal with Monica.
The hour groweth late, so I shall quickly skim through my brains for the summer activities that have been happening to me lately.
- Harry Potter.
For those of you who have stuck with Harry and his pals to the very end... who attended the movie showings in full costume... my kindred souls... I salute you.
For normal people, who most likely fall somewhere in the middle, stay cool.
Isn't it strange to think it's all over? JK Rowling's legacy has not been a passing phase, a fleeting obsession that was cool for a while but then faded (*cough* *cough* Twilight.) It's been spread out over a decade, and it's readable whether you're six or thirty six-- it's not too childish, it's not too hard. And it deals with STUFF, not necessarily KISSING AND ROMANCE AND SUCH, but deeper love. (And, obviously, I enjoy books with kissing. I enjoy movies with kissing. It's just a good thing.) It makes it more accessible, you know? I mean, I read The Philosopher's Stone when I was but a wee lass of six years old. I think I read it with my mom over the course of months, and then one day I climbed a tree and finished the last quarter myself because I couldn't wait longer.
And then, before you know it, the seventh book is out, and we made my dad buy three copies so nobody had to wait to read it first. And I read the 700+ page book in about eight straight hours, crying in the right parts, smiling in others, biting my fingernails for most-- and then the books were done. It was a perfect ending.
But it was okay, because the movies were there. We had those to look forwards to. Personally, I've had July 15th booked off my calendar since I left the theater of Deathly Hallows Part I. And now it's all over.
Now, I may or may not have had PMS and/or was overtired that day, but did I ever cry. Some people claim to not cry at movies. Ha. A friend of mine said via Facebook "OMG I cried three times!" And I'm thinking, "I wish. I started crying, and then just kept going." But it was okay, because when you leave the theater hiccuping with your makeup smeared around your eyes, going to the bathroom to try to make your face less red and blow your nose, you're not alone. All those dedicated Potterwatchers are there for you.
And in case your wondering, I used my fluffy hair to my advantage and dressed up as Bellatrix Lestrange to attend the midnight premiere.
2. Stephen King
I am an avid reader (further classified as "bookworm" or "nerd") and have recently discovered the wonders of good old Steve. I have been reading his novels this summer, and I also watched the Green Mile. (And I died in all its fantasocity.) "The Langoliers" and "The Body" are my favorite novellas. "Needful Things" and "Misery" are my favorite books. And for the record, don't read "Pet Sematary" and then proceed to obey your mom's wishes and get the water hose from outside when it's midnight and pitch black outside. I'm fairly certain it's bad for your blood pressure.
ON THE SUBJECT OF BOOKS I recently read Paranormalcy (actually I finished it two hours ago) and was astounded, angry, and jealous. I was astounded that a book could make me that happy to read, and how much fun it was. I was angry it took me this long to read it, because I was denying myself of awesomeness. And, oh, jealous because I CAN'T WRITE LIKE THAT.
Kiersten White: you rock. And I hate you a little for it. But I can't, because anyone who creates Evie has to be sweet.
I have at last joined the leagues of the working class, and found that I have not been missing much. I am a Sandwich Artist at a restaurant called Subway, which is situated in about every city and/or town across the globe, I have been realizing.
Well, perhaps not in Africa. Or those other eastern places that don't eat real food like fries, or pizza, or even subs, but eat weird things like abalone (which sounds like lunch meat but is actually an endangered sea creature type object of a sort) and poisonous fish and weird plants and, I dunno, shark fins.
It's a pretty sweet job, actually, because I work with some sweet teenagers and we have fun. And also, we get free Slushies and fountain drinks. And coffee. And half-price cookies, which sounds like a good idea until you get a slow day and consume half the pan. (I recommend White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, which have to come from heaven or someplace similar.)
Technically, I guess that would make Heaven situated in our industrial freezer.
All I've been doing this summer is lazing around, doing a few creative things and feeling guilty when I don't do anything. And then I think, summer is meant for relaxing. You're recharging your batteries for school when things get busy.
And then I think, but since it's noon you could probably get out of bed.
I've taken some pictures, I've played my guitar and my tiny, adorable purple ukulele, and I've even blown the dust off an unfinished manuscript and been polishing that a bit.
Maybe I should just finish that damn thing, send it to a few publishers, and then forget about it. That would be nice.
All right. I'm not going to promise I'll be a regular blogger, because I suck at keeping those kind of promises. (Hence, the junk food I will never ever eat because it's bad for you and you don't need it and you can talk yourself out of it honestly it's not worth it oh okay just this once mmmmmmm). But on the other hand, I don't want to be the kind of blogger whose every other post is "Oh I'm so busy! I should write more often!"
I think the problem here, is that we need a MAKEOVER. Clean everything out. Start fresh. Make it pretty. Dust off the cobwebs.
Promises are easier to keep when they are pretty.