Twilight has a special place in my heart because it keeps me running for over 20 minutes on the treadmill without my realizing that I’m out of shape and have probably broken a leg. Twilight owns a part of my soul like the last people to keep me up reading until 4 in the morning, but the British wizards were not nearly as sexy. And Twilight gets my blood pumping because, like all great addictions, it makes me feel terrible about myself as soon as I’m released from its heavenly clutches. The high of self loathing is almost as rich as the high of insanely hot vampire booty.
I hate you Twilight! I love you Twilight! Do I update GoodReads with Books Three and Four or do I not? Can I conquer my shame long enough to blog about my compulsion to know the lives of these idiot teenagers? Somehow I will have to intellectualize Stephenie Meyer’s fantasy world in order to go on. And yet it helps not at all to imagine that the series might be an allegory for the Church of Latter Day Saints. In fact it makes it worse. But the call to abstinence horrifies me even more. In fact the whole saga makes me want to die. But only so I can become a vampire.
Please excuse me for being late to this party. I also just watched Boys Don’t Cry if anyone wants to talk about it.