I should really be in bed by now.
Lord of the Rings has been making me more depressed than elated recently, which is quite a plot twist all its own. Reading through Return of the King, it reminds me not only of how much I would adore being able to go to the LA premiere, but- with much more severity- of just how much I wish the damned thing was real. This may sound pathetic, I know, but I get these bursts of utter happiness reading through those books, only to drop to a sudden low as I snap back into reality and realize no, no there isn't a Shire. No, there isn't a Sam, or a Frodo, or the dappling of sunlight through a tree as I awake, refreshed, in some simple bed (after healing from some horrid wound I'd recieved weeks earlier that will cause me to become ill at that time every year thereafter)... It feels so real, but it isn't. Curses. I mean, all I can do is come home and mounfully play 'Gollum's song' after a long day.
I suppose I'll just keep up with what I've started doing- compensating for my lack fo Middle-Earth by putting as much of it as I possibly can into my life philosophy. Lots of love and cheese and delicious apples... As much dappled light and running barefoot through trees as I can possibly manage.
Oh, and lots of hiking.