Returning

For once I'm not writing to you from behind my large, green tinted, faux wood desk. I'm writing to you from not so sunny Orlando International Airport, Gate 124 waiting for a plane to take me back to Chicago. I've got my fingers crossed that this rain isn't going to delay my flight. The good news is that I have a direct flight so I should get there some time tonight even if it's not on time.

But enough boring chit-chat about my flight woes. I have a net-book that actually works, thanks to my dads computer savvy! Thus my ability to write to you in the middle of an airport. My trip to Florida has proven to be fruitful. If anything, it has reminded me of the number one reason I was eager to leave the Sunshine State: The sweltering heat. I just about died walking around outside for longer than an hour. Universal Studios/Islands of Adventure were fun if not slightly unbearable. The fake snow in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter was almost a slap in the face.

And what a lovely way to bring us to Harry Potter. A grossly irrational and unhealthy passion has been awoken inside me. I'm in love with a world that doesn't exist. I'm finding myself hoping for the first time in eons that there is in fact a heaven and in that heaven I get to attend Hogwarts, play Quidditch, and save everyone from the dark lord (all as a Ravenclaw because, you know, I'm pretty much Luna Lovegood).

I bought a scarf and a tie and I'll be wearing them to the movie when it comes out. I'm crazy. I'm hung up on things that aren't at all real. But that's my childhood and has we all know, if I'm nothing else I'm nostalgic. Even now I'm planning when I can reread the books next.

Maybe all I want is make believe. That's not true. There are definitely people in this world that I love and want. I'm happy when I'm doing a show. But that in itself is make believe. I have a slight obsession when it comes to reading and writing about the news, but that doesn't make me happy. It makes me very frustrated and upset.

I need to stop thinking and start doing. My plight stems from this over ponderous nature of mine. When it comes to writing, I over think any story before I start writing to the point where I can't help but hate my ideas by the end.

Now I need to stop writing. I always seem to leave myself more pointlessly nervous than I intended.