So I’ve been working my way through His Dark Materials for the last couple of days.

I’ve known about this series for the longest while. I found out about it in my early teens, when Harry Potter and The Hobbit sort of started this whole obsession with fantasy literature. I would browse Amazon trying to find similar works, and I kept coming across these books. The premise seemed cool, and pretty much the kind of thing I was looking for (human souls manifesting themselves as animal familiars called dæmons? Gimme.), so I decided to add them to my “to read, eventually” list. I never made them a priority, though. Despite the fact that Harry was my introduction to the world of fantasy stories, I was always kind of hesitant to get into books that were part of a series. I worried about getting too invested, because what if the story turned out to be completely horrible? Which is a silly thing to worry about, really, but back then I was even more of a neurotic dork than I am now.

So what with one thing and another I never actually got around to reading them. Fast forward couple of years: The Golden Compass, the movie adaptation of the first book, comes out, and I go watch it with eager interest — but I am left unimpressed. I liked the story well enough, but it made for an underwhelming movie, I thought. And I guess this further put me off from the books.

But then: the present! I have a Kindle now, and copies of the books in it, which I found on a torrent a while ago when I was scouring the internet for such things (look, I will repent for my dirty pirating sins one day, okay?). A couple of days ago I finished the Harry Potter series (which I was re-reading for dorky-ass writerly reasons) and was looking for something else in that same vein to read, so finally I decide to pick up these books. (“Life is a circle and things, they come around.”)

And oh my god.

So right now I’m alternating between feeling completely annoyed and pleasantly amused for waiting so long to read this damn series. Annoyed because if I had read these books when I meant to read them, in my teens, when I started to question my religious beliefs and whatnot, I think they would have helped to make up my mind about a lot of these theological doubts I had floating around my precious pubescent brain back then. They would have filled my head with thoughts and ideas (which are dangerous).

And amused because reading them now, as a terrible unbelieving heathen, I don’t really have to think all those heavy theological thoughts or whatever, and just… enjoy the story as a story. Which I am, thoroughly. It’s brilliant. And heavy. And fun.

(Still though, a part of my brain laments the fact that I had to read these books with under “preaching to the choir” kind of conditions. But ah well. Can’t help that.)

[I have put the rest of this under a break thing because it’s a bit spoiler-ish, I guess? I don’t really care about spoilers, but, you know.]

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I am about to go out.

Look how thrilled I am about it.

I have become a hermit.

I don’t know what my right eye is doing.

Getting this — from Middle-earth — was a good way to start my day. Possibly the best way. Thank you for totally making my whole week, Stephanie!

So this silly thing I saw on Tumblr prompted a friend and I to start talking about handwriting, which is one of those subjects that becomes totally fascinating at one in the morning, and that is because everything and anything becomes totally fascinating at one in the morning. This led us to sharing our signatures, because we each thought ours were clunky, horribly erratic, and completely, utterly the opposite of fancy-schmancy.

This is what I sent. I described it as looking like it was done “by a little kid trying to imitate a grown-up” and not entirely succeeding. Which, thinking about it, is pretty much how I would describe everything else I do in life. ADULTHOOD.

She thought it looked all right, though.

Tonight.

Two things I miss having:

1. long hair
2. nights like this one