Last night my Deathly Hallows poster came down off the wall at about 2 a.m. and attacked me. I just now realized how vulnerable my situation is in the event that my posters come to life and stage a coup. My bed is in the corner. On the wall behind me, there’s the Harry Potter poster. On the wall next to me, there’s a flag from the college I’m going to, as well as this kickass painting I did in third grade (it’s an underwater kingdom with jellyfish and lots of glitter). On the ceiling right above me, there’s this gigantic drawing my friends and I did at a cafe—in an effort to “stay green” this place uses recycled paper as tablecloths, and you get to color on them while you wait for your food. We weren’t sure if we were allowed to keep it—no one else around us kept theirs—so we paid the check and grabbed the drawing and bolted, and somehow it wound up taped to my ceiling.
So yes—things look grim. This is basically a three-front war. I’m going to have to appease them for the time being, because death by poster just isn’t the way I want to go.