Hem, Hem

The idea for this post has been coming together rather slowly in my brain-- largely because it is about something very very important to me, and therefore must be executed with perfection, in order to fully express the sentiment to follow.

People who know me well know that the subject I am about to discuss arouses strong feelings inside me. When I see a meme making fun of it, I either laugh because it is funny, or feel insulted that someone would make a joke out of what I love so much. When people attack it (and attacking means admitting passivity or dislike toward), I defend it like my first born child. When I am bored, I think about it. When I am inspired, I think about it. And when people ask me what my favorite book is, I join the cliche fan-club who answers immediately: Harry Potter. All of them.

You might laugh. This is coming from the girl who could tell you every password to Gryffindor Tower, who hates Umbridge more than Voldemort, who bought the final  Harry Potter book at the grocery store (because pre-ordering on Barnes and Noble booklists is for squares) and who has read each and every book a minimum of thirty or forty times.

I have heard people express some ideas (on which I will comment, as a self-promoted expert).

1. JK Rowling is not a great writer.

Uh... what? Define great: a) large in number b) wonderful, first rate, very good.
Have you read her dialogue? have you studied the characterizations? have you considered the story-- the idea? the classic idea of good and evil? the themes of friendship, loyalty, acceptance, and responsibility? maybe you missed the commentary on power, and how it can save and corrupt, or maybe you missed the idea that people are what they make themselves and not what they are born to be? and if you really do want to ignore all that-- look at how many people are DEVOTED to her writing. It's one thing to have a lot of readers. But the readers of these books are more than just the New York Times Bestseller list. Large in number? Check. First-rate? Check.

2. Harry Potter has some gaping plot holes, and is not plausible.

They're wizards. Flying cars? Dragons? Splitting your soul in half? Yep, the most believable thing in the world. And as for the plot holes... so does everything else except maybe Lord of the Rings.

3. The books aren't very original, and Lord of the Rings is better anyway.

Sure, if you're an avid reader and love fantasy. Lord of the Rings is wonderful-- in a old time, thick sentence kind of way. The characters and history are timeless and will influence fantasy writing until forever. But, Harry Potter is more accessible to a wider reading range, and the readers grow up with it-- making Harry Potter like Disney in the way it influences adolescent memories. As for originality-- show me something like it and then we can compare them.

Like I said-- I'm pretty defensive about Harry Potter. I owe Joanne Rowling. Big Time.

Sitting On The Farm

I don't know what it is about life, but sometimes, it just decides to spread itself all over the place. I can't decide if this is just some inevitable consequence of owning things, or if it is actually just my own lazy fault. ... Probably the latter,

Anyway. This morning I woke up at six-ish. I was as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as one can be at that time of day, and I got dressed and ready to head out the door to go to work when I realized-- mt work shoes were at the apartment across the hall. So was my purse. Oh, and also all the groceries I bought yesterday (my cupboards were pretty bare). I went over and tried the door: locked. I called my friend: no answer. I yelled at her through her bedroom window: no response.

Now, it is twenty to nine. I still haven't made it to work and and I am just waiting waiting waiting.

This happens-- too often. My shoes in the living room, my debit card on the bookshelf downstairs, my keys down the side of the couch and my books on the kitchen counter. How does it all get there, and why doesn't it stay put? I don't really know, but sometimes, I wish I did.

Partly Cloudy With A Chance of Showers.

I have been looking forward to writing post number 100 on my blog for a long time. I didn't have a specific idea of what I wanted it to say. And now I am sad that this post will be neither witty nor clever nor anything else light-hearted.

Anxiety (noun)-- distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune

I think this word is under-appreciated for what it means. I think this feeling is under-appreciated for what it does. The anxious person is a person who falls asleep late and awakens early. The anxious person simultaneously avoids food and eats it for comfort. The anxious person finds it difficult to rationalize, to improvise, to socialize, but merely clings to the fringes of normal, everyday thought, telling themselves that somehow, something will change and the feeling will just go away.

They seek for rash emotional answers to rid themselves of disquiet. Perhaps I should move to a different state. Maybe I should watch a whole series of Gilmore Girls in one afternoon to distract my mind. Maybe if I cut off all my hair, and dyed it blonde, it would help. Buy a new dress. Clean my room. Drink milk-- I never drink milk. Maybe I should just buy a plane ticket, even though I'm already booked to fly there next week as it is. 

Others should realize that anxious people may not be very logical, may be suspicious, may not make informed decisions, may cry or over-react to unrelated things, may be irritable, and may cause emotional or bodily harm to others.


Anxiety: Mostly cloudy, guarantee of showers.

Don't Worry About It

Heat. Hot hot heat.

Okay. So maybe I don't live in Arizona, or Mexico, or the Sahara desert-- but I do live in Utah. And this little Canadian soul struggles, who has a thick skin against snow, ice, and surprise July snowstorms, just doesn't know what to do.

I work outside. Some would say-- well go to work before it gets hot. Which is cool, but it is already hot at 9:00 M. Some would say live at the pool. And get sunburns. Some would say turn on the air conditioner-- but my seasoned Utahns tell me, "You haven't seen anything yet. Let's wait till July to use the AC, cuz that's when we'll really need it."

My solution? Become nocturnal. I could do it. Those people down south who do the siesta thing-- they've got the right idea. What if we worked and played at night, and slept during the day? Then we could give up the Otter Pops, aloe vera gel, and cravings for ice cream.