I Scare Myself Sometimes

today, whilst aimlessly skimming along the internet (who needs Bing? clicking on every link that comes your way is a great time killer and has the bonus effect of being amusing) I came across a photo that looked something like this:

The caption said "violet-winged butterfly". 
I read "violent-wig butter moth".

Curse you, brain.

Hogwarts Acceptance Letters

Let's face it; everyone wants to go to Hogwarts. Honestly, why wouldn't a person choose to go to a magical castle? Unfortunately, 12-year-olds around the world must accept the harsh reality that they are not, in actuality, a witch or wizard. Despite the fervent wishing and the fantasies lingering in their minds about how they, too, could face Voldemort and have incredible powers they are not "The Chosen One". Some already knew, deep in their hearts, that such a thing could not exist. There was no history of attending Hogwarts in the family and they hadn't exhibited any extraordinary abilities. Perhaps they clung to the faint hope that they would be a muggleborn- it would not be such a hardship, enduring the name of "mudblood" if only they could brandish a wand. Others simply never saw Hogwarts as a place. It was purely fictitious, only reachable by J.K. Rowling's stretch and twist of their imagination. But the majority, the die-hard fans who found the book was more than just ink on paper, believed. They believed like the Darling children believed in fairies*. If you were one of these fans before the age of 11, you simply knew an envelope, addressed in green script as to your exact location, would appear at your doorstep. It was true that nothing spectacular had occurred around you, but that was surely just a glitch. Perhaps there was a psychological block preventing you from seeing it--maybe you were an underveloped master of magic. But you were absolutely positive that in just a few years time you would be strolling through the halls on your way to potions instead of science. But alas, the saying is true "we all secretly cried when we didn't get our Hogwarts Acceptance Letter". The disappointment was almost unbearable as you sat through another math lesson, wanting to stick a rusty fork in your eye because of the sheer boredom of those horrid workbooks. As for me, I wasn't upset during fifth grade, the american equivalent of a 1st year. I had a backup plan. There were two possible times one would get into Hogwarts: when fifth grade rolled around or when they turned eleven. This provided me with two options. Since I was a year younger than most of my classmates, I would be 10 during fifth grade. Therefore, I would either receive my sealed letter the summer before, or after when I turned eleven. It made sense- I would only be about a month older than Harry and I was fairly sure Ron was about six months older than me. So when sixth grade came, my disappointment was immense. It was a difficult burden to bear, leaving a cloud of sadness in the back of my mind. My plans were about as successful as playing keep-it-up with a lead balloon. But I was beyond crying. And now I am still at my muggle school, going to boring muggle lessons but contenting myself with the fact that at least I'm not a squib and don't have to watch my parents be all awesome. Unless having eyes in the back of your head qualifies as magic.

Crushed Dreams

*Peter Pan Reference