Nothing to talk about really.
Things I did on Halloween: woke up after 3 hours of sleep, drove my sister to school, drove Andrew to school, watched a bit of The Hulk, went back to sleep, had a nightmare about the Hulk, woke up at 2 and missed my therapy appointment, took 2 hours to get ready for Halloween, got Brenda, got Isaiah, took a few pictures, carved my pumpkins all by my lonesome, went to Chipotle, took Brenda home, took Isaiah home, went to Andrew’s, went to my Pinkberry, went back, went home, went to sleep. Fun shit.
I don’t know what else to say. Your life sounds lame, no offense. Also, I don’t feel like playing guessing games right now, so you can just tell me what your title stands for.
Every time I reread Harry Potter I remember why I was so obsessed with it when I was younger. And then I get re-obsessed. Last night while I was on my break, I was reading the third book and eating my Pinkberry. Ingrid came to the back and I said to her, “Do you ever get sad when you read Harry Potter because you really wish Hogwarts was real and it’s not? I do. I’m so sad.”
Sometimes, the only way I could survive elementary and middle school was if I pretended that all my teachers were Hogwarts professors. Then my friends and I would go out to the field during recess and pretend that the dragonflies were golden snitches, and we would try to catch them.
I used to have dreams where I was playing Quidditch and I was searching for the Golden Snitch. I would soar through the sky (sometimes it was snowy), racing on my slick broomstick, spiraling in mid-air. Those were the best dreams ever.
I don’t have dreams like that anymore. Ever since my depression started, I haven’t had a single good dream, even on my pills. I dream plenty, but every single one is some kind of nightmare, whether it be scary or sad or angry. Instead of the wind tickling my face as I’m scanning the sky for a glint of gold, I’m panicking on the steep slope of Berkeley. Instead of a fun adventure at Hogwarts with my best wizard friends, I’m listening to my mother badmouth me and punish me for being a horrible, messed up daughter. Instead of magic spells, I’m getting my heart broken by my soul mate because he doesn’t want me anymore.
When I said that sometimes Harry Potter is one of my only friends, I meant it. When I can enter his magical realm and pretend that somewhere magic really exists, everything is better and nothing hurts as much. But sometimes it hurts more, because the things that hurt are so real, and the things that are magical are so stuck in my imagination.
But Dumbledore and his ever wise words say, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
And since we’re on the subject of Dumbledore quotes, I happened upon another one that is relevant to my life right now.
I’m still trying to get Andrew to smoke less. It’s a little bit painful to think that your boyfriend is high for most of your relationship. I wish he hadn’t started smoking at an early age. And I wish that the reasons for it hadn’t existed. He doesn’t like talking about it, but I can tell how much his family issues have taken a toll on him. It’s how it began, and it just never stopped.
“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” – Albus Dumbledore
I wish I knew how to help Andrew.
Explain your idea of a storyline for a play that begins with the line, “I’ve been a potato before.” Ingrid randomly said that to me one day, and at first I had no idea what she was talking about, so I burst out laughing. Then I thought it would be an interesting first line of a play. Kind of like, “Why are you like an almond?” or “Septimus, what is carnal embrace?” I sort of imagined it Melancholy Play style, where they don’t really explain it at first at all, and you don’t really get it until the end. I ended up imagining a dark stage, lights up, “I’ve been a potato before,” lights down and silence, then the actual play starts.