I think I'm abusing the real meaning of warp, but

On some days, I really feel like I'm in a time warp.

Why do I philosophize every moment of my life. Take a chill pill, S. (ohmygod, did I just refer to myself like a gossip girl? truly, there is something off with me tonight.)

I just had a quick half hour meet up with another S = Sowmya, who decided to drop by SG for a day en route to her home country India -- I rushed to the airport once I cleared the last kid of the day, and we sat at Macs trying to squeeze a year (2 years?) worth of updates before she missed her plane. I looked at this old friend and thought, omg, she looks like a doctor. I told her she looked different, but didn't say how, but honestly, she reminded me of one of the GPs I used to see when I was small. And I felt a time warp.

The second time warp happened while on the bus ride home and I was reading Draco Trilogy on my iPhone (I am concurrently reading The Mortal Instruments and The Draco Trilogy, presumably for purposes of analysis, please don't judge); then this teen girl sat down next to me and opened City of Bones, the first installment of The Mortal Instruments. For at least a minute, I sat there marveling at the beauty of the moment; there was a clear 10 year gap between the two seats we were both occupying, in  age, in text. I was thinking, Somebody, take a photo of this beautiful parallel moment!

Other minor time warps occur when the relentless wedding invitations arrive by post, and my dad goes, "Why all your friends marry so young?" (This line is one of the reasons my father is awesome.) I count (or try not to panic while I count) the number of weddings I have to attend and the insanely dwindling number of single ladies I can go with. 

And I realise feeling this time warp is very lonely.

---

I'm at the part of DT where Hermione becomes so annoying, I want to throw a really big brick at her head.

"I love you," she said.

He closed his eyes. "No," he said. "No, you don't." 

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know," he said, with a spark of anger, "You think I don't know? The difference between what you feel and what I feel--"

"Is what?"

"Is that you can tell yourself that what you're feeling isn't real, and you can get rid of it with a spell. And I can't. Now get out of here, Hermione. I mean it. Get the hell out of here."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, heard her getting to her feet. "You're right," she said, in a muffled voice. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize," he said. "Just leave."

.

.

.

.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No," said Ginny. "I was awake. In fact, I was worried about you, so I went looking for you."

There was a short silence. Hermione said, "Well, I'm fine." 

"Yes," said Ginny. "I rather think you are."

It was as if a fist had squeezed her heart. She knows. "Ginny-"

"If you tell me," said Ginny, in a very cold voice, "that that wasn't what it looked like, I will kill you."

Hermione bit back the words that sprang to her lips, and whispered instead, "I wish I could explain."

"I don't want an explanation," said Ginny. "I want to forget I ever saw anything."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, in a whisper.

"It's not me you should apologize to," said Ginny. "It's Harry. I almost told him, you know. I stood outside his tent, wondering if I should tell him."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"But I didn't," Ginny said finally. Her tone was tense and distant.

Relief flooded through Hermione, but it was short-lived.

"I decided you should be the one to tell him, Hermione," Ginny snapped. "And you'd better. I'll make sure that you do."

"I can't," said Hermione. "You don't understand." 

"Shut up. I don't want to talk to you. Now, or ever again."