Oh, Harry Potter...how I love you.
I am actually mortified by the fact that I have yet to see HP/Order of the Phoenix. Mortified, people. I should've thought about Harry Potter movies before I got pregnant. Not really. I think I am going to cash in a babysitting IOU on Sunday afternoon to go see it. I'm not as excited about seeing the movie as I am reading the final book, though. If there were a reading-related equivalent to a pee-pee dance, I'd be doing it. I am crazy anxious. Because I haven't been able to see the latest movie, I reread years 5 and 6 over the few days that M was in Fort Fun packing up his daddy's house. How did I have time to read 1500 pages of Harry Potter with an infant? Little sleep. Lots of laundry piles. It was worth it. I had only read HP/Half Blood Prince once as I didn't want to relive the ending (oh, the treachery). However, I knew I needed to before the final book. Correction. I knew I wanted to. Besides, I'd read all the others more times than I can count. Anyway, I have been having Harry Potter dreams ever since I finished book 6 on Saturday afternoon. Dreams that are intertwining Rowling's fictional world with my reality. I don't remember the dreams well, but I know I have dreams with Sirius and Harry and me, M, and S. Crazy. Plus, I keep waking up thinking that I have something Potter-related to do. All I have to do, though, is wait. I almost can't stand it.
I worry that there will be a huge, gaping hole in my soul after I finish the final book. Happy or sad, I am not sure I'm ready for the finality of it all. I may need therapy. How hysterical is that? With all of the crazy family disfunction and insane issues I've dealt with in my life, Harry Potter is what's going to drive me to the shrink's couch.
I can't believe I even have time to think about it with all of the insanity around here this week. Wish me luck. And patience. Happy Tuesday night.