FATE

GUESS WHAT PISSES ME OFF. Everything? Well, yeah, that's correct. But not what I am talking about at the moment.
I hate Mac people. And by Mac people, I don't mean anyone who has a Mac product or computer, because I love my iPod very much and I am totally jealous of/happy for anyone with a Mac computer or laptop. However, I cannot stand people who sit there gushing how awesome their Macbooks or whatever are, and then loudly say how much PC's suck. Look- I think it's been proven pretty well that Macs are better than PC's. That's nothing new. However, I, like many other people, do not have parents who pick money from trees as an occupation and I am happy just to have a laptop at all. I love my somewhat cheap Dell laptop, even though I am well aware of the fact that a shiny Macbook is a better computer. A Mac person is like a person with designer jeans making fun of Target jeans. Obviously the designer jeans are better, but you get what you can afford. So shut up. My spiel of the day is done.

I think I mentioned my random recent lapse of nostalgia about a week ago. Last night, I decided to write to Jo Rowling for the first time since August. A lot of what I normally used to write in letters to her has gone into this blog, but it felt like a spiritual awakening of sorts when I was able to fully pour my soul into those pages like I once did weekly. I love blogging, but there is something about a Jo letter I forgot I loved.
Forgetting about loving things seems to be a theme with me. First it was Wicked, then it was Jo letters. And now it is the big one- Harry Potter. Those two words flow off my tongue effortlessly, like they have been used so much they are just hanging there constantly, waiting to fall into whatever conversation I am having. My fingers can type them without thinking. It's like your most visited site, you type the "f" and facebook is right there, so familiar with the often use that it predicts your urge to procrastinate.  But still, I forgot how much I loved this series. Last night, I decided I felt like picking up one of the books again. I couldn't remember what I saw in these books. They are children's books. I have read them all hundreds of times. Why do I need to read it again? But I did it anyway, grabbing my battered copy of Goblet of Fire and sinking into the first chapter. At first, I was reading a children's novel. It was good. But once Harry woke up, and then he was dealing with the Dursley's, and then he was at the Weasley's, I got it. Again. I must have read this book a thousand times, and yet I once again I fell into the story like a child reading it for the first time. I knew the dialogue, it was like my friends speaking. I knew the descriptions, it was like describing my world. Especially when Harry describes the bliss after dinner at the Weasley's, I felt like everything in the world was at ease. Even the writing style was similar: I'm sure that has had a huge influence on how I write. Everything was so familiar and normal, like it was always meant to be. I knew the font, the chapter pictures, and the layout of the page. I knew the feel and smell of the book. It was like returning home after a wild, crazy, and fun vacation. You go through life, pick up memories and experiences, but you must have that comfort, that something to always come back to, that home base. That is what these books are for me.
So since fate seems to be working in my favor lately, what with the Wicked last month, random nostalgia last week, the Jo letter yesterday, and Goblet of Fire last night, I was unsurprised but amused at a discovery today at the library. I was leaving after an unsuccessful day of research for my APUSH paper, when out of the corner of my eye I saw standing upright a hardcover copy of, you guessed it, Goblet of Fire. It was in the "books for sale" section, and something about it made me feel like it was special. I did what I normally do with the hardcovers in book stores and flip to the publishing page to see what edition it was. I was ecstatic to see the "10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1" that signifies a first edition copy. I then frantically flipped to the back to see if it had the wand order mistake, and sure enough, James popped out of Voldy's wand before Lily. I don't think I've ever been more excited in my life over a book, or at least not until I found out the book was a mere $3. Okay, that is obviously not true. I've been so excited over a book... well, I think you can figure that one out for yourself. I've never been more excited in a library, that's for sure. I was trying to suppress this enormous smile on my face as I paid for my book and then proceeded to tweet my discovery. I now have hardcover first editions for books 4-7, and maybe a few afternoons in a used book store will complete my collection. I can only imagine how much that will be worth one day. I'm sure it will be thousands in ten years from now. There's just something special about finding this book, this edition that was published just as people were beginning to get an idea of what this series would become. The original owners wrote "July 2000" at the top, and then two notes, probably from a mother and a child, to a friend to which they were giving the book. The mother's note said "Dearest Ariana, wishing you lots of magic in your life" and the kid's said "Thanx Ari I hope you have as much fun as I did reading this book!" You can imagine how that made me smile. However, this appears to be quite the traveling book: in the back, I count five different names and addresses of past owners, all from either Massachusetts or California. I can't explain it, but this just felt like a special book. The whole situation is screaming "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants."
I forgot to make you a cake, Gloria. Wednesday. I promise.
Oh yeah. I have school tomorrow. Crap.