Harry Potter.
Specifically, the fifth movie and the seventh book.

And I watch the fifth movie... All. The. Time. I don't even really know why I own any other movie, quite honestly.

Because when I'm thinking about Hogwarts, I'm not thinking about how reality bites. And not in an indie movie sort of way. In a Why-Can't-I-Just-Be-The-Divination-Teacher-and-Marry-Fred-Weasley-Before-He-Dies-Oops-Spoiler-Alert-My-Bad.

And I just love to hate Dolores Umbridge. Bitch.

Justin Bieber.
Not defending this one. It's impossible.

Art Supplies.
Specifically pens that are excellent for doodling. It's gotten to be quite a spending problem, and I feel as though I should seek counseling.

Hi, my name is Nat and I'm addicted to doodling.

Can I draw you a picture of my brain?

Nature?
I add the question mark only because "nature" sounds SO lame that I don't even believe that I said it.

But nature really is my vice. Because I become engulfed, enveloped. Especially when Niko the Nikon and I go adventure. O, rapture!

Barnes and Noble.
Or, you know, bookstores in general. Because nothing is more sacred than a pile of old books that smell like glue and dust and wood pulp. Nothing.

when i wanted to learn about the golden age of
television, you took me by the hand and said, "here, this is a
pen and it is a part of you."

when i ached for answers and turned to the runes
or cards dusted with the breath of the universe, you sang to me
in familiar a familiar tune, my heart skipped the
necessary beats, and i danced.

you never taught a lesson, or a detailed definition, but
my hand has not retired, nor has my ear
stopped longing for your tone...

when i wanted to learn about the world, you cracked it over your
knee, and you held it to my lips and you said, "taste this life and drink
it down"

and so i did, and so i have every
morning since, with my pen:
the only part of me that didn't go with you.