Wow, it was 20 years ago today that Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was published. You guys, that’s INSANE! I remember reading it for the first time, and being drawn into the magical world that J.K. Rowling had meticulously constructed. The adventures of the Boy Who Lived and his friends thrilled me, and I learned the power of love and friendship against destruction and evil. It was a big part of my childhood. And that was TWENTY years ago you guys! Twenty Years. Twenty years…
Holy shit. It’s been twenty years. Holy fucking shit. Time has passed. It has marched relentlessly onward and nothing has stemmed its flow. The moment in which I first discovered those books is gone forever. And my memory probably lies to me, as it does to us all, so what I remember about it is far from the truth of that moment.
Oh God, I’ve aged. I’m twenty-eight now, soon to be twenty-nine. That isn’t old, but I was once an eager child reading the book. Shit you guys, I have grey hairs. I mean, that’s partly genetics, but still, it’ll become greyer. I’ll age more. Shit, I’m going to be sixty at some time. And then seventy.
Holy fuck you guys, I’m going to die some day. I’m chained to this rotting meat we call a body and I can’t escape it. Oh God. I probably have like two or three twenty year anniversaries of the publication of Harry Potter left in me.
WHAT KIND OF CRUEL GOD ALLOWS US TO SUFFER THE DECAY OF TIME!?