I started reading Harry Potter VII night before last. Collin got the book for me for my birthday, and when we visited Barnes and Noble Saturday, and I wanted to buy the book, he decided he'd better go ahead and give me an early birthday present. I did not complain.
I want my other birthday present now too, please.
I have to admit I didn't love the book at first. There was conflict, sure. I probably should have reread number VI first, sure. But I just didn't love it. I kept going, of course, because that's what you do (most of the time). And now that I'm about 200 pages into the book, I'm definitely into the book. I want to go home right now in fact, snuggle up with my new kitteh, Marigold, and read until my eyes get tired. Then I imagine I'd take a little nap, wake up and read some more.
What makes this new little obsession worse? (I'm still chewing gum, so there's that, too.) I'm really worried I'm going to find out how the book ends before I get there. Worried? Really?
Onto other life news.
Summer school is over, and I have three weeks off (after I finish grading, which I will do the moment I hit "Publish Post") before a rather busy semester begins. Collin won't be taking classes, so the next few months should be much less stressful for him (once generals are over), but I've now officially got three jobs. I'm thoroughly excited ... I am a real freelance editor now! ... and at the same time hoping it won't be too difficult.
I know it won't. No use in blogging about worry that isn't really worry. I should get to grading.