I blame the rain and my pesky nostalgia, but I’ve barely started reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. By this time two years ago (or whenever Half-Blood Prince came out), I was already done, and had been for quite some time.
My parents were in Washington, DC on my dad’s quest to catch a game at every major league baseball park (he’s got seven to go, although the Nationals are getting a new stadium, so they’ll have to go back to DC) and so I was hanging out with my grandmother and Lucy, the Schnauzer. (Translation: my grandmother has Stage 2 Alzheimer’s and while she’s still lucid, it’s not good for her to be left alone.)
So I was already not at home when post office blitzed cities with their Amazon.com pre-ordered copies of Book 7. Add to that the return of The Flood (seriously — we got six inches of rain on Friday alone) and I didn’t want to brave the storm (and spend the gas $$) just to drive 25 miles to get my book.
I picked up my copy this afternoon on my way to the airport and I’m about 100 pages in. I’m not reading right now, and in fact, won’t read till much later — I just got Cow Belles in the mail through Netflix and there are chicken fajita nachos and quesadillas with my name on them (actually Taco Cabana’s) in the living room.
Again, I blame the fact that this is the LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK I’LL EVER READ and also a growing suspicion, even though I’ve so far managed to avoid all spoilers but one relatively minor one, that my heart is going to be ripped out of my chest at some point on this 785-page journey for my reluctance to speed-read.
I probably won’t be done till sometime Tuesday (that will be a record — it’s never taken me longer than 28 hours to read a HP book) because tomorrow night Kevin and Mia are spending the night and we’re seeing OotP.
I can’t wait to finish, and I dread finishing.
Go figure.
