Post-Potter.

No plot details will be revealed. Please skip if you want no hints.











I tell myself from time to time that I should slow down when I'm reading. The problem is, I usually ignore myself. I picked up HP yesterday at Borders (I've decided that this is the most constructive place to write; therefore, I buy most of my books there out of loyalty) at ten, continued to function as a responsible adult, and still finished the book by eight thirty last night. So I really didn't get anything out of the book as a writer. But I had to know what happened.

Afterwards, I lay in the bathtub. I didn't feel anything. I got out of the bathtub. Everything was annoying. I ate something and told myself that my daughter was not being annoying. I asked Lee to give me a hug. "I thought you might need one," he said. I took Ray to Target and picked up some cookies. We came home and ate cookies. By the time I went to bed, I felt sad, heavy and sad, heavy and angry and sad. I don't remember my dreams.