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Now that I'm coming down from the post-HBP euphoria...
...I'm missing camp more and more.
I said before that it was the best summer camp I'd ever been too, and I wasn't just saying it because I was incredibly hyper the day I got back.
Northern Minnesota, as much as my dad bad-mouths it, is beautiful, as long as you have the Deep Woods Off! and don't mind getting sticky. At the camp, you literally couldn't turn around without seeing a lake, and at night you could hear the loons calling.
Mostly, I miss all the other girls in my cabin, who made me so happy and were so funny. I'd had this image, you see, of the type of girl who would attend a French camp; they'd be very prissy and would like doing their nails. Instead, all of the people were so kickass I can't even begin to describe it. And as if that wasn't good enough, one of the girls sang "Bohemian Rhapsody," a cappella for us one day. The whole thing.
My cabin was the bitchin'-est.
Also, my counselor, Arianne, is an author at SQ. Every night before bed she'd read a few chapters of "By the Pricking of My Thumbs." I've been meaning to go back and read it, because I'd sometimes fall asleep at the very end.
So, I had a counselor who is a Remus fanfic author, and the girls in my cabin liked Queen, David Bowie, Harry Potter, and the Beatles. Pretty damn neat, I'd say.
But anyway, the worst part of our weeks was probably when they told us about the bombings. The only person I could think of who I knew lived in London was Fabio, so I was glad to find out he's fine.
But, yeah. There's my pining for camp. I feel better now.
I said before that it was the best summer camp I'd ever been too, and I wasn't just saying it because I was incredibly hyper the day I got back.
Northern Minnesota, as much as my dad bad-mouths it, is beautiful, as long as you have the Deep Woods Off! and don't mind getting sticky. At the camp, you literally couldn't turn around without seeing a lake, and at night you could hear the loons calling.
Mostly, I miss all the other girls in my cabin, who made me so happy and were so funny. I'd had this image, you see, of the type of girl who would attend a French camp; they'd be very prissy and would like doing their nails. Instead, all of the people were so kickass I can't even begin to describe it. And as if that wasn't good enough, one of the girls sang "Bohemian Rhapsody," a cappella for us one day. The whole thing.
My cabin was the bitchin'-est.
Also, my counselor, Arianne, is an author at SQ. Every night before bed she'd read a few chapters of "By the Pricking of My Thumbs." I've been meaning to go back and read it, because I'd sometimes fall asleep at the very end.
So, I had a counselor who is a Remus fanfic author, and the girls in my cabin liked Queen, David Bowie, Harry Potter, and the Beatles. Pretty damn neat, I'd say.
But anyway, the worst part of our weeks was probably when they told us about the bombings. The only person I could think of who I knew lived in London was Fabio, so I was glad to find out he's fine.
But, yeah. There's my pining for camp. I feel better now.
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