so there’s this thing I do with books, as I was explaining to my bestie the other day -- I get into such a funk about some of them ending, that I’ll essentially...put off finishing them. Realise I’ve got three chapters left and then shelve it for a month, then pick it up again...repeat. Repeat. Repeat. For years at a time, even.
(I am not joking: myself and a dear friend were head over heels fangirls for Garth Nix’s Keys to the Kingdom series...I bought the final book, Lord Sunday, the literal day it was released (1 Feb 2010 in Oz, ftr)...and I haven’t read a single word of it to this day. I keep restarting from the first book, and just...not wanting it to be over. Still. To add pathos to the pathetic, said friend and I are no longer in touch at all, no less.)
...I’m caught up in those same kinda feelings this morning/tonight, plus extreme excitement, curiosity that killed the entire felidae family, nevermind just the cat, plus misery that we’re going to have to wait for so long and the fandom will doubtlessly go back to sleep (fuck the neckbeards and the haters, man, I have been having the time of my life for the last month and a bit because my eternal fandom is awake and it is beautiful), plus...IDK what my feelings actually are doing at all, anymore? And I just. I want to watch the finale right now. Now now now. But not at all. But now.
(Impatient, horrifically inquisitive, and finifugal; aka, I’m a not-so-secret Noldo. give me all the majesty and beauty, give it to me without end, and give it to me now.)
