One Sock, Two Sock, Red Sock, Blue Sock

I'm so incredibly annoyed. I wrote an entire blog on my other computer, but when I went to transfer it to the one connected to the internet, it wouldn't work. I'm annoyed but if I find out that it was someone messing around with this computer when he shouldn't have touched it since it's not his at all, I will be very very angry. ...and it's not like it was a nice little compact post either. Well, I suppose I have no other choice but to type it out again.

Anyway, the title refers to what I was chanting to myuself yesterday afternoon as I was digging through the pile of nice, clean socks on my bedroom floor.

I don't like disturbing things. They are thoroughly disturbing. Blood, physchos, murders, and whatnot don't bother me a bit, but disturbing is nto something I enjoy.

A nice little quote:
"just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have." -Hermione to Ron in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.


Now that I have read all of the currently published Harry Potter books (yes, all 2689 pages), I can give my collective thoughts of them, which may contain some little (or not so little) spoilers for those who have not yet read them. But, by all means, read on. I personally love spoilers; I can't take the suspense of having to sit and wait to read what happens and, during the Harry Potter books, I would frequently find myself not reading the pages fdrom yop to bottom but instead skipping around within the page, unable to keep myself from glancing ahead... kind of like a "two steps forward, one step back" method of reading. But anyway...

First of all, I think that anyone who judged these books without reading them is an ignorant fool. Just because these books deal with magic is no reason to cause an uproar, especially without reading them. If you've read them, by all means go ahead and roar all you want. Books such as The Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings were not nearly as controversial as Harry Potter, though all are clearly within the bounds of the fantasy genre and are read by children. That said, my own preconceived ideas frequently shifted as I made my way through the five Harry Potter books.

The first two books differed only slightly from the movies and so, though quite good, were not as captivating as perhaps they could have been. Now having read all five books, I feel as though the first two were light and entertaining compared to the rest, with book three being a transition book to the progressively darker books four and five, which at times bordered on disturbing. Book four's ending was completely unsatisfying and it took all of book five, whose content was no more satisfying than the previous book's conclusion, to rectify the ending of book four. Books five was almost literally painful to read; Harry's confusion, his anger and rage at all of the injustice, and his intense sadness when Sirius dies was hard to stomach. Frequently when I would put the book, I would be in a bad mood with residual anger from the book in my mind. I was quite upset and angry when I found out the Sirius died in book five and it was then that I felt like quitting, putting down the book because I no longer had the desire to continue. Not only were the characters in the book treating Harry horribly but then Sirius's death was thrown in on top of everything. I could not and still can not see the reasoning behind it or the need for it. What was the point of book three if Sirius was just going to get killed off in book five? Maybe I will just have to hope beyond hope that Sirius is not actually gone for good.

I'm not sure what my final conclusion is about these books. They were good and yet I feel as though I could quit right now and be fine with never reading the last two books, because it feels as though there is nothing good left to look forward to, as though all the good and fun has gone. But I suppose that I will still be waiting expectantly for the next book and the next movie.


Finishing a good book always leaves a hole behind. What will I put where there was once hours upon hours of reading? Where will my mind go when there's no longer another world to travel to through the pages of a book? What will I do when I no longer have someone else's (albeit made-up) life to indulge in? When those hours where I have lost my grip on reality are gone and it feels as though no book could possibly take the place of the one that was just finished, what will I do? I'm suffering withdrawal and it's depressing.