The End of an Era

This post contains no spoilers. It's all about me. As usual.

I've said before that each new Harry Potter book seems to make its debut around my birthday. My dad orders it in advance and my mom puts it in the gift bag and we all eat cake and I read the book and it happens again two years later.

So when I found out about the release date, I emailed my dad and he started the process. This was in March.

All week, of course, there has been a buttload of press and pages (illegally) published online, and various stores selling the book early, and major newspapers doing spoiler-filled reviews. And I have avoided all of it. I didn't want to know; I just wanted to read my book, to go in without expectations or advance information.

BUT. The thing is, I knew I'd have to get the book the day it came out. There's no way that every form of media won't be all over this tomorrow, splashing chunks of the book around, where I'd be sure to read or hear it unexpectedly and without warning. I was sure I'd have the book in my hands around 9:00 Saturday morning and then I could spend the whole day reading and Monday would come and I wouldn't have to worry about people spoiling the book for me.

Only 9:00 came and went without my book. So did 12:00, 2:00, and 3:00. By that time the mail had come and there was no Amazon box waiting for me. According to the website, the book had been delivered to The Metropolis on Friday, which meant it should have been in Randomville on Saturday. But it wasn't, and I began to get angry.

It was irrational, of course, but all of my tantrums tend to be. I gave a long speech (to no one) about shipping guarantees and early ordering and the United States Post Office in general and the Randomville Post Office in particular. I felt better afterwards, but I resigned myself to living the next 48 hours without any sort electronic media and immediately went into withdrawal and got the shakes.

After wasting the evening watching the World Series of Pop Culture (taped, so no danger of spoilers), I went to Amazon one last time to check the status of my book (I hadn't closed the page the last time, so I was safe) and it said DELIVERED.

Me: !!!

So I stomped to the mailbox and opened it and choirs of angels sang and leprechauns danced in my hair and a unicorn ran by and there was a meteor shower and I thought maybe I shouldn't have had that last Seagrams.

I started reading around midnight and stopped around 5:30 when I literally could not keep my eyes open another minute. When I woke up I read for about an hour and my sister Joon called me when I had three pages to go and asked me about SALT of all things (not an acronym for a group, just regular salt) and when I got off the phone I read the pages and I heaved a big sigh.

It's over, and I am satisfied.


P.S. I always type Harry Pooter instead of Harry Potter. I hope this does not say something profound about me.