You know what sucks about books? They end. I hate that. Yeah, I'm happy and relieved to see resolution and release, but geez. It's like you just went through a startling life-change or something. The book ends, and all you get for consolation is the fact that you can always re-read it. You can never quite recapture the intensity of the passion when you revisit the novel. I still escape into a Harry Potter book when life is bleak, but I don't get lost in them like I did for the few fateful weeks spaced over seven years that I spent reading them for the first time.
I need to find a solution for this disturbing realization, that books end.
On a distantly related, there are certain things that are so precious to me, I dislike sharing them because other people so clearly miss the importance, the brilliance. I tend to do this with some classical music (even some of the contemporary instrumental stuff), because people so often don't understand the beauty. After four semesters of music theory, I stare at them like..."How do you not realize that tension and resolution? How do you not hear how that harmony is absolute perfect for that melody? How do you not understand the potentially life-changing significance of this? Blast you all!" The rest of the world scoffs at me, so I gather up all the most significant things in my life and carry them away from the blasphemors.
There's something weird about me that makes it hard to cope with reality.
Also, I really want a teapot. Not a flowery china pattern, mind you. I want a squat, whimsical set, serving tray included. The kind of set that screams imagination.
