The problem with J.K. Rowling and her incredible imagination

I don't think I'm going to be able to write any blog posts or, I am ashamed to admit, do any work, until I finish the new Harry Potter book. I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted to be better than this. Cooler. Less prone to reading frenzies involving books that I once refused to read because I "do not read children's books." Luckily, as I've become oblivious to all other duties since starting "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," I'll be done, and back to normal, soon. Back to working on kind of important things, like what I'm going to be doing for work in a month, and where we're going to live when we move. You know, stuff like that. But I've decided that since I'm just going to be distracted and unable to concentrate on any activity except reading until I finish, well, then I might as well just forge ahead. Right? Yeah, that's what I thought. I might as well read another chapter. Or twelve.