The Hotness saga begins

Short:
Hot server at dinner last week.
Went back tonight to stalk him.
Success.
Possible laundry room meetup.

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The obligatory Harry Potter post

The day of reckoning has arrived for Harry Potter fans worldwide. Millions of books shipped, twice as many hands cracking open spines of discovery, just as many eyes drinking in the words and revelations held within those 700-some pages that act as a capstone on a legendary series.

I’m physically anxious. I won’t lie to you–I’ll buy the book as soon as I can find it. And you can bet I’ll avoid going online as I read it so that I might not stumble onto anymore spoilers. I read one simple line on facebook completely by accident, and I feel as if my innocence, my Book Seven Virginity, as it were, has been ripped from me. I try to forget what I read, but trying only has the same effect as trying to get “It’s a Small World After All” out of one’s head. It doesn’t work. It sears the words into one’s brain like a hot branding iron. So, I suppose I’m disappointed. But I won’t let that ruin my enjoyment of this final installment of one of the most obsession-inducing sagas in youth literature.

All that said, maybe finally, after all this hype has died down, people will stop talking about Harry at every possible conscious moment. Sure, I’m a fan, but I have my limits as to how much of someone’s obsessions I can handle. So let’s all enjoy the final book, shed a few tears of parting, and then get on with life!

A wish for clarity expressed without clarity

I’m not used to limbo. I prefer surety to mystery–at least with my personal or emotional life. I want the security of understanding myself, where I stand, how things work, and what I’m feeling. This contrasts with the thrill of not knowing, discovering, and hoping. Every time I’m stuck in “No Clue Land” I learn how impatient I can be. There are times when I’m very chill and enjoying the moments as they come … but apparently I cannot yet stop my insatiable curiosity and eagerness.

I’ve been in suspense for a few weeks now, and I don’t think I’ll have any definitions or clarity for quite a few more. I’m on clouds of Maybe, floating between indefinable destinations. As the wind goes, there go I. Even so my feet are stretching, aching for the ground beneath. Part of me is thankful for the space beneath. I’m learning patience once again–the one lesson for which one should never pray lest they receive what they want.

I’m happy; I’m thankful; and I suppose the mystery is going to last whether I like it or not. The friendly duel between my instincts and my wisdom continues.