Liesel Meminger is also a time thief.

*comes up gasping for air*

And you all thought I was going to post every day during December.

Okay, so I have actually been (mostly) keeping up with the drawing challenge. I've just gotten extremely lazy in scanning the resulting drawings. So I actually don't have any pictures to post right now. I will get to it.
Eventually.

I also read The Book Thief.

*gratefully accepts gifts of tissue boxes and hugs from fellow sufferers*

Seriously, though. If you haven't read it yet, GO DO IT NOW. It's really, really good.

BUT IT'S SO SAD I CANNOT EVEN.

The worst part about is that you know the whole way through how it's going to end. The narrator tells you time and time again. So you spend the book preparing yourself for the ending.

There is just no preparation, though.

I don't cry during books. Movies, oh yeah. I don't really know why, but movies will make me sob where books will have me completely dry-eyed. It's not that I don't feel emotion during books. It's just... a different sort of emotion. If that makes sense. It probably doesn't. But I tried.

All that to say, I bawled my heart out during that book.

My mom was talking to me about something while I was in the midst of the ending, which was simultaneously really nice and really awful. Like, "Mom, I'm in the middle of a ridiculously emotional book ending at the moment. Can we have this conversation in a few minutes?" and "Yes, keep distracting me. I don't want to cry."

I cried anyway, of course.



In other news, our family is pretty much in charge of the entire Christmas pageant at our church this year. We haven't had one in years, so this year my mom, myself, and my next-in-line sister decided that it wouldn't be too hard at all to put one together. I mean, it's just a bunch of kids in costumes singing a few Christmas carols. How hard can it be?

Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Two weeks later, and I've barely sat down at all since then. MY FEET HURT SO BAD. I mean, I have bad feet to begin with. At the end of the day, they usually hurt like I've walked the great wall of China. So these last few weeks--and especially last few days--have been pure misery.

In between the last paragraph and this one, I stopped to try on the innkeeper's costume for my mom. I'm the closest in our family to the size of said innkeeper.

(Okay, random funny story. This actor is so obsessed with making money, it's absolutely hilarious. Over the summer, he kept digging up the hosta plants we have all over our property--literally, all over. I counted them last summer, and I gave up at 200--so that he could sell them at his "roadside stand." I don't think he even made anything, but it was so funny seeing him sweat digging them up all summer. Except for when he dragged me into helping him. Then it was less funny.

The real funny story I wanted to tell you, though, is that at our last rehearsal, he asked my mom, "So if Jesus was born at my inn, do you think I could charge more for the rooms? And how much do you think I could get for them sleeping out in the stable?"

We were all dying of laughter. It was the funniest thing ever.)

So yeah. I should probably sign off and go practice my piano. I get to play for the entire service on Sunday, yip-dee-dee. Plus a whole bunch on Christmas Eve.

(I know it sounds like I'm complaining, and I sort of am. But I'm not happy unless I'm complaining. I love playing piano.)