growth

February 22, 2012

1.5 inches

June 27, 2012

3.5 inches

Three inches in four months, people. I'm not impressed.

Maybe if I sing to it it'll grow faster?

p.s. I don't wear my hair all sticky-outy like this. That's for effect.

Missing. Melancholy. Melodrama.

My brother, on his own at school,
My childhood friend, the first to wed,
My lengthy curls, so long since shorn,
And all my pets, so long since dead.

My boxes full of stuff upstairs,
My books and coffee mugs and plates,
My friends who made last summer fun
Too far away for coffee dates.

The Luxurious Distress

I learned something yesterday. I learned it at six o clock P.M. Suddenly I realized it is a luxury to worry about fictional people in fictional circumstances.

Since Friday at 3:30 in the morning, my mind had been consumed with The Hunger Games. My hands were desperate to get a hold of the final installment, Mockingjay. I was distressed to the point of distraction over Peeta, Katniss, and the rest of District 12. Unable to focus on anything else for more than a few minutes, my agony over the fate of these fictitious people I had emotionally invested in was consuming every other thought. And while that may sound exaggerated and dramatic, it's basically true.

My biggest worry for most of yesterday was whether Peeta Mellark was alive, what Katniss would do with her new information, and what was going on in District 12 with Gale and Katniss's family.

At six o clock, however, my family got a phone call that brought me back to reality. Then I realized how blessed a person must be for their greatest concern to be for the lives of imaginary people. To have so few worries of one's own, to have so few pressing cares that one can afford to spend that kind of time and energy being distraught over a work of fiction.

Don't think for a moment that I am condemning emotional involvement with fictional reading. It's a mark of good writing, to find yourself drawn so strongly into a character's life and feelings. But take a moment, when you're agonizing over the cliffhangers, when you're going crazy over the love triangle, when all you can think of are the people in that other world, to appreciate the luxury of that extravagant distress.

Review: Catching Fire

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



Every time I read a distopian novel, I wonder why I don't read more. I always like them. But it's an odd sort of liking. Not a happy, fuzzy like, but the sense that comes from reading something powerful and provoking.

The story was fresh and strong, and definitely not repetetive and predictable, which I was concerned about. No need to have worried. The whole book kept me holding my breath and being surprised.
I think once I've read Mockingjay, Catching Fire will have been my favorite. I'm anxious to read Mockingjay, but I don't see how it could top this. Once I started, I couldn't put it down - not once. I might even read it again.
A lot of readers criticize Collins for making Katniss in book 2 so different from herself in book 1. She does and says things that the Katniss in book 1 wouldn't have thought of doing. People are chalking it up to sloppy story-telling and slapdash character development. I want to make the argument that it's intentional. It makes sense. Even Katniss feels after The Hunger Games that the fabric of who is is, what she stands for, is falling apart. Doesn't it only make sense that a person whose life and self is absolutely crumbling would act differently from the confident person she used to be when the series started?

P.S. The girl in me is agonizing over the love triangle. **rolls eyes** I guess I can't help it.



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Sometimes words just pop in my head when I'm falling asleep

Basketful of petals.
Suitcases and spires.
Dark drafts and candlelight.
Descending spiral staircase.