Afflicted with Consumption

Have you ever been so totally consumed by a story, or a book, or a movie that you lose all objectivity? I can get like that. I know you’re not surprised.

My dad handed me The Hobbit when I was about 11 years old. It took me a while to get through, but I did it and I was hooked. Then, with great pleasure, he handed me his leather-bound, collector’s edition of The Lord of the Rings. It took me even longer to get through. I’m not sure I got it. And it took me even longer to pick back up, more than 10 years as a matter of fact. But when I did, it was consuming. I didn’t want to put it down. In fact I read all three books several times over the course of a year. The magic and sheer and undying hope had me utterly hooked.

Since my son is old enough to really start getting into superheroes, I’m sort of the same way. I just get all attached to the characters like they belong to me. The Boy and I had a routine for a while with The X-Men that we would watch all the episodes together, since they were new to both of us.

I was more than mildly afflicted by the Harry Potter series.

Then my mom turned me on to the Twilight series. And I’m fully entrenched, in the absolute devotion and love inherent in the characters and story. Well, and there’s Edward.

I was 10 when the movie Labyrinth came out. I vividly remember coming home from the theater and lying on my trampoline staring up at the sky, fervently wishing that the Goblin King would come and take me away. I still find myself wishing that occasionally.

I’ve always been attracted, and then consumed, by fairytales and magic of all sorts. Almost looking to it as a philosophy on life. That if I believed hard enough, those fairytales would come true. But at the same time refusing to be the damsel in distress. So what do you do when you want the knight in shining armor to save you, but you’re busy slaying the dragon?