Partly, this is because I belong to a couple of historical groups devoted to the study of ancient Rome, and having the members become familiar with Latin is a goal of at least one of those groups.
The other, and maybe bigger, reason is because of the little Paul Graves in my head.
It is frightening how happy I feel about having made this decision--because I know that part of my joy is caused by this fictional character who is ecstatic that, at last, he will be able to ensure that his Latin is correct when he casts spells, no matter how J. K. Rowling writes them in canon.
I'm going to need Paul's tenacity, too, because I don't have it. There will come a time when I'll whine to myself that "This is too much work. I don't really need to know all of this Latin. There are other things I need to be doing. I'd rather write. Or watch TV. Or sleep. I don't wanna!"
So this is fair warning, Mr. Graves: You'd better be there when I start slacking off, as I inevitably will. I can't do this without you. This is a big, big commitment of time and effort, and I tend to work in little spurts. This will take years. So don't you dare disappear from me for a week, the way you did after you killed Cicuta--you hear me?
Your commitment to perfection had better be really, really strong, if you're so determined to drag me into it.
I'm afraid to even ask how the DSM-IV would classify my mental state. I probably sound like I'm in deep denial of the strength of my own desires and trying to avoid all responsibility for my choice. Oh, yes--and scared of failure, too.
Or maybe I just have multiple personality disorder without dissociation. Yeah, that sounds about right.