It has become apparent to me that I internalize the fiction I read and love. The thought suddenly struck me when I noticed a wasps nest outside my apartment door and my very first thought was “Shit. I hope those aren’t tracker jackers.” Which, of course, are genetically mutated wasps that are featured in The Hunger Games. This forced me to consider other things I think and do that are clear indications I’m perhaps getting a little too into the books I love.
I always explore (lock myself into) any wardrobe I’ll fit in.
When I’m scared of something, I attempt to cast a Riddikulus spell at it. Please note, this failed miserably against the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park.
I think about the things I can carry in my purse that would allow me to survive in desert island situation.
I frequently speak to or at least around trees just in case they turn out to be ents.
I’ve spent a significant amount of time thinking about which class I would most excel in at Hogwarts. (It’s charms)
I would very much like to own a mockingjay pin- just so people know where I stand.
The good news is that I’m quite prepared to live in a dystopian society wherein young wizards are sent into an arena to magically duel to the death but also may get spirited away to a happier, although not always peaceful world, if they stumble into the right furniture or cave and maybe if they make the trees in the arena angry enough they will come to their aid and fight for the good of all mankind. I’m totally prepared for that world.