It isn't that I don't love you

I've just been so very busy, you see.

Working.

And writing the novel that's going to make me the next JK Rowling (AHAHAHAHA!! if only)

And Christmasing. I don't actually have a tree yet. We're supposed to get one this weekend because my parents gave us forty smakaroos. We spent it on groceries, but we're still buying a forty dollar tree. It's pretty much the same thing.

Christmas is in interesting thing when you're a young married couple. You've moved out, so you aren't the kids anymore, and the kids or sort of the focus of the whole Christmas season. And Jesus. I'll get to him in a minute. But for now, kids. We aren't the kids anymore, so the whole magic of that aspect is missing now.

Example: My sister and I used to sleep in the same bedroom on Christmas Eve and watch Christmas movies (Annabelle's Wish? The best/worse/best/worse Christmas movie on the planet. It's about a cow who turns into a reindeer. Seriously. Also, it's important to note that I just spelled "reindeer" as "raighndeer" The spell check suggested that I really meant "Straightener". Mercy). I usually fell asleep mid-Grinch, but still. It was a Yuletide slumber party once a year. Also, we always got brand new PJ's. Last year we tried that, and at nine, we both looked at each other and said "Yea, I had to work today. I'm going to bed." We didn't even sleep in the same room. She slept in her old bedroom and I slept in mine with my husband.

Childhood = gone forever.

I feel like this problem of missing magic could all be solved by having our own children, because really, kids get the joy and magic of Christmas. But while we are neither kids nor parents, we're stuck in Holiday limbo.

On the bright side, my Mommy still fills my stocking on Christmas Eve, although last year she did it while I was still awake and sitting on the couch. I watched her do it. Seriously Mom, how am I supposed to believe in Santa Claus if you do stuff like that. You're killing the Virginia in me, that's what. I told her that, too. Her response was that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. Apparently tricking us into thinking a fat man leaves presents every year was easier when we went to bed at seven thirty. I say her excuses find no sympathy from me.

Never

Tell a mother or a nanny of an ADHD child that it is ridiculous to medicate a child.

The next time someone informs me as such, I'm going to direct them to my charge at homework time when he has skipped meds.

Then I am going to kick them in the shins.

Here's the thing.

Here's the thing.

I love Harry Potter.

LOVE.

When I finish reading one of the books, I am overwhelmed by this sadness that just clings for days because I have to come back to reality and realize that the world isn't real.

It's incredibly healthy of me.

I'm very well-adjusted.

Anyway, with the seventh movie now half out (it was amazing, by the way), I am overcome with emotion at the fact that, after this July, it will be over.

OVER.

I can reread the books, and I will, but they will say the same things they always have.

The beauty of the HP universe is that it is so vast and there are so many stories waiting to be told in it. She has hinted at possible doing a few more, and to that I say PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!

The point of all this is that a dog jumped at me today.

Stay with me.

A dog jumped at me today and left a gash on my forehead about a quarter inch long. When I had the bleeding under control, I took a look in the mirror and OMGITSLIGHTNINGBOLTSHAPED.

Vaguely.

I can only hope against all hope that it scars.

NaNoWriMo: A sad, sad update

I lack something.

The common folk call it "stick-to-it-ivness"

I call it that too, but I like to say "the common folk"

I really do have none. My husband and I never did finish The Love Dare, I didn't finish the RIPV Challenge in October, I've never finished a Nest book challenge. Look at my "100 books in 2010" list. I'm at 96 and completely stalled out. And now, it's looking like NaNoWriMo will be the next thing tossed into my "Yea, I was going to do that once" basket.

I have a good reason though.

I started off strong.

I wrote well.

Then I realized...

I detest the characters I wrote.

DETEST.

As in hate with an almighty passion.

I very nearly just had her throw herself off a cliff because she's so darn annoying.

So I have scrapped that story. But I refuse to give up!

In a burst of determination, I went back to the drawing board and started over with an entirely new idea. It's going well, but I'm only about 500 words in, so we'll see.

Things That Bother Me About Harry Potter #2: How have Fred and George never been called in to a disciplinary hearing about underage magic outside school? Haven't they been developing Puking Pastilles and whatnot for ages?

Things That Always Bugged Me About Harry Potter

#1.

"If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick."

This seems like a rather advanced piece of transfiguration for a five year old, which Fred would have been at the time, especially considering he wouldn't have had a wand at the time.

Although, it's possible that he didn't do it strictly on purpose. It isn't unheard of in the Harry Potter universe for young children to do things on accident when they are angry or scared.

Also, I would like you to take this moment to appreciate how very much I love this series, because oly true love is able to care so much about something so ridiculously irrelevant.

I voted today...

did you?

NaNoWriMo

As I have mentioned, I am an aspiring writer, which basically means that I like to write, but don't have the wherewithal to actually finish anything so it can be published. I'm also incredibly critical, and can't manage to get through a few pages of prose without going back and hyper-editing everything.

The buck stops here, darn it.

For the month of November, despite the fact that I have never completed an internet challenge ever, I am participating in National Novel Writer's Month. The challenge, basically, is to write a 50,000 page novel in a one-month time-span. They make a point of informing you that what you produce will probably be beautiful, lovable crap, because instead of editing and trashing, you are supposed to just throw criticism to the wind and write with nary a thought to commas splices and plot holes.

I'm nervous, because you actually have to submit your novel, which means that people are going to read it, which is something I have never allowed. Ever. My husband, who I love with all my hart, has never read a word that I have written. Except when he was cleaning our bedroom and found my old journal from eleventh and twelfth grade. He read that. And laughed at me. Out of love, I'm sure.

The point is, I'm writing a novel. I'm doing it, and you can't stop me.