Farewell, Harry.

As people are lined up everywhere to get the final Harry Potter book, I can't help but feel a little sad. I don't think I'm quite ready to see Harry go. It's hard to believe I've spent the last nine years reading about little Harry's life . . .
as apparently these people have as well . . . .

And to tell you the truth, I've never been the "reader." My sister and mom would tease me about how long it took me to finish a book, when they would easily read an entire book in 1 or 2 days. Yeah, not me. I read . . . fall asleep . . . read . . . fall asleep . . . a month later, I may have finished 3 chapters.

Harry, though . . . he was different! Sad that it took a children's book to bring the best reading out of a 25 year old, but the Harry books have been the only books I can sit down with and actually read 100 pages at a time ( . . . okay, that's pushing it . . . 75). And, as I race to finish only the 6th book, I've completely given up on any hope that the ending will remain a secret. I fully expect to hear the entire heroic event on the morning news tomorrow, and if not there, flashed across the "Yahoo" homepage screen in bright red lettering. Ridiculous, but I've come to terms with it. I have not, however, come to terms with the fact that the Harry story is ending. Hell, you'd think she'd be able to squeeze at least another 2 or 3 books out. I guess, though, it's got to end somewhere . . .