Do you write? Do you wish you could write? An essay about good words.
Do you ever really want to read a book, know that you have that particular book somewhere, and yet can't seem to find it? My fingertips are partched with dust from me looking through my stacks to find this book. I KNOW I have it, and yet, it's not there. This isn't a book I've lent out. Those leave sad empty places on the bookshelves of my mind and I remember every one of them, especially the ones that never found their way back to me. No, I can SEE this book on the shelves in my mind, it's THERE. And yet, reality does not reflect this. The book has gone to the same place that missing socks go.
In other news, I was right about actually starting to write while I should be taking notes. I write some of my best stuff when I should actually be paying attention in class. Oh well.
I have come up with a new Harry Potter
story. Harry's dead. So are a lot of other people. Ron is the DADA professor. Oh, and I also have one where Arthur had a kid on the side no one ever knew about so Ron is the seventh son of the seventh son, making him all cool and stuff. Ron obsession, building, building! But! I must write co-Ron/Draco with Al, or she may kill me in her frustration! This I shall. Tomorrow. In class. Heh. (Or maybe on the bus.)