What is it about having kids that leaves a huge, gaping wound that never closes? Why does it all of a sudden become impossible to reread a book or rewatch a movie you previously enjoyed, despite what happened to the young character in it, without crying your head off? That’s if you can even bring yourself to read or watch it again to begin with.
Because we love the everliving shit out of our little monsters and can’t help but see them even when they’re not right in front of us. They worm their way into our hearts & minds and set up shop permanently, the little brats. Just like they should.
I love my hatchlings and woe-is-me to anyone that ever messes with the little book ruiners 💕💕
I’m taking a slight break from the experiment tonight.
I found out about the passing of Alan Rickman earlier today. I’ve been enjoying his work for over 20 years. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Die Hard, The January Man, Close My Eyes, the Harry Potter series, Love Actually, Truly Madly Deeply, Mesmer (to be watched soon), and Galaxy Quest, and many more I have yet to see but have no doubt are great examples of his work. I would have given anything to see him on stage as well.
Mr Rickman – spoons may hurt more because they’re dull, but no spoon is duller than the loss of your brilliant and gentle talent. You will be greatly missed, beloved Severus.
By Grabthar’s Hammer, by the suns of Worvan…