Crying at the Movies

On Thursday July 14, I went over to a friend's house for her birthday party. And it was an enormous nostalgia fest for the eight of us there, because five of them were going to the midnight premiere of the eighth Harry Potter movie.

(I, unfortunately, was the slag who didn't reserve her tickets on time, and would be going to see it at four P.M. the next day instead. I am dumb. The other two didn't like Harry Potter. I'm not quite sure what they were doing there. They must have felt very out of place.)

Quite a few of us had grown up with the series, and for the three hours before they left we were talking about our hopes for the movie, how great it would be, how everything was ending, but really nothing was. As one of my friends said, it wasn't like our books were going to disappear overnight. And we would always have our experiences, all the memories tied to years and years of reading this amazing series, and talking to friends about this amazing series, and making other people discover this bloody amazing series. All the fake wand duels, all the dressing up as Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley for Halloween, all the waiting, waiting, waiting for the next book or movie or announcement was not going to be erased from our memories because there weren't going to be any new movies or books.
They left for the midnight premiere at 10:30, and I was picked up and taken home with a heavy heart. Talking to my friends, most of whom had been similarly affected by the Harry Potter series, made it hit me--hard--that this basically looked like the end of my life. And I'd better damn well appreciate that now, while I still can.
The next day took forever, because I was waiting until four o'clock and torturing myself with Tumblr, which was Potter-saturated. We got to the theater at three o'clock, waited in a line that was already enormous and made me panic that we would end up in the first row, looking up at the movie screen like it was the top of the Sears Tower. (But we didn't, thank the gods.)
I had puffed myself up before, thinking that I was emotionally prepared for this movie. I'd read the books! I knew what was going to happen! I was prepared for the fact that every minute that passed by was my childhood being wrenched away from me! I was totally prepared, yeah?
God, no, I wasn't.
I cried:

1. When the Death Eaters burned the Quidditch pitch, and I remembered Harry as an untroubled first year playing for the first time on that pitch, and my eyes welled up before I could help it.
2. From when Snape died to the end.

Most people kept drinks in their cupholders. I kept tissues.

And then the Hogwarts Express sped away at the end of the film, it felt so final. That's it. It's only lucky for this generation that we were here to see it.

Quote for Monday, July 18, 2011:

"If writers wrote as carelessly as some people talk, then adhasdh asdglaseuyt[bn[ pasdlgkhasdfasdf." 

— Lemony Snicket (Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid)

Muse for Today:

I saw a GIF of Jo Rowling saying this on Tumblr, but I can't find it now, but I was emotionally vulnerable the other day and it made me cry.
“Whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.”

Also, in less important news that I feel like I have to share anyway: It is my blog's birthday today. It is two years old.