Mockingjayed-Out

 OK, this is just a rambling, somewhat incoherent stream of consciousness that is probably not worth reading.  I'm not going to re-read it tonight anyway.  But it's what I've got.  It's probably whiny.  I won't feel bad if you don't read it.

I just finished reading The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay (by Suzanne Collins) for the second time.  I didn't get enough sleep last night and spent a lot of time crying today, mirror neurons in overdrive, mourning the corruption of perfect love in one character.  I felt so stupid for being so affected by a person, a character, that's not even real.  But I was also crying for other reasons, I think.