The Hunger Games are ruining my life.
- In an inadvertent experiment of sleep depravity, I read 374 pages in one fell swoop the night of Daylight Savings Time. 3:15 AM has never felt so much like 4:15 AM.
- Yes, I ran out of tears, my hands got clammy, and my heart raced at an alarming rate for five straight hours. This can’t be good for my long-term health.
- Anyone else stalking friends who own books 2 and 3, asking them repeatedly if they’re finished so you can borrow? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS.
- Spectacular nightmares started and just keep on coming. The least traumatic is the recurring dream that I’m on Survivor Man with Bear Grylls and I must a) drink my urine to say alive and b) bludgeon anyone who comes near me. Friends, I am not hardcore enough for this.
- This book is forcing me to decide between Team Peeta and Team Gale. After the Twilight saga I thought I’d escaped needing to choose one fictional character over another (ahem, Team Jacob/Peeta).
- I also never thought I’d be pressured by every breathing American into standing in line for 3 hours to see the film opening night. And no, I am NOT dressing up like Katniss. Please. I hate cargo pants.
- Once I do see the film, how long must I wait for the next?!
- I’m one tiny step away from starting a book club. I don’t want to be THAT person
- It’s horrifically embarrassing to admit that I’m hooked on a young adult fiction series. It’s for like 15 year olds or something.
- The People magazine featuring the movie’s behind-the-scenes details leapt into my cart yesterday and now I’m five bucks poorer and sinking into new levels of lameness.
Please tell me The Hunger Games are ruining your life too.
love, allison
love, allison 