Monday the Crap
Well, this was a fantastic day of my life. Firstly, divination...staring at pieces of dirt and making little stories. Today, I had a blob of dirt. It was very different from last week's blob of dirt. It is full of magical property. My blob of dirt inspired to make up the story of my probable suicide at the age of twenty-four, where I will drink myself into despair, write a few prize-winning novels, but die before I win anything – by overdose I think. I told Professor Thingy this, but she just drifted off somewhere else. I didn't think she really cared. Mind you, I wouldn't care if some sad ugly boy in a corner decides to tell me all about his future.
Then lunch, where Potter and his fan-club thought it proper to throw strange un-identifiable objects at me (all of which missed) while I tried to pick up my bag (which they had hexed to the other side of the room). A letter from my Uncle informing me that he had gone to St Petersburg on a business trip: as if it would make any difference to me whether he went or not, probably popped over to kill a few people in suits, for the mafia's sake.
Then I commenced with Double History, where Evelyn Taylor answered all the questions I know the answer to before looking at me in a smug 'I just answered a question' way. She kept on staring at me. Probably wondering how I could drag such an amazingly oversized nose around all day without falling over. I wish she would go away.
Ah! Preparations for the Hallowe'en Ball. Sirius has had fifteen offerings I think, by pathetic blonde herons who have nothing in their heads but everything in their bra. Potter achieved three, none of which he has accepted for Lily Evans Reasons. Malfoy obviously as his little band of Slytherin purebloods attached to his arm. Rosier has his annoying high- pitched rodent of a girl, Wilkes has his. Crabbe and Goyle, or as I prefer, Twiddle-dum and Twiddle-dee, have their brainless rotund illiterate girlfriends. Although, I'm not sure they know what the title 'girlfriend' entails. In fact, I think Twiddle-dee was shocked at the fact that people do in fact kiss in real life, not in the picture books he reads.
I will stay in my room, and as everyone will be out, I can have free reign of the chess-board. Thrilling prospects. Life doesn't get any better than this. Although, now thinking about it, for me as I never will kiss, this phenomenon will remain in their fairy-tale state. So, I will never know whether it actually exists or not. Perhaps it is a weird sexual matrix that is pulled in front of my eyes. Perhaps everything exists only through the mind and not in physical reality and... Wait...this is not all...at supper, Evelyn Taylor sat next to me and began to talk to me. God forbid! I didn't answer her, only in grunts, and then I left as quickly as humanly possible. This is why I am still very hungry.
And my potion efforts were for nothing, as Peeves has decided it wise by poltergeist standards, to tip my cauldron over, on which I have been working on for over a month.
Well, this was a fantastic day of my life. Firstly, divination...staring at pieces of dirt and making little stories. Today, I had a blob of dirt. It was very different from last week's blob of dirt. It is full of magical property. My blob of dirt inspired to make up the story of my probable suicide at the age of twenty-four, where I will drink myself into despair, write a few prize-winning novels, but die before I win anything – by overdose I think. I told Professor Thingy this, but she just drifted off somewhere else. I didn't think she really cared. Mind you, I wouldn't care if some sad ugly boy in a corner decides to tell me all about his future.
Then lunch, where Potter and his fan-club thought it proper to throw strange un-identifiable objects at me (all of which missed) while I tried to pick up my bag (which they had hexed to the other side of the room). A letter from my Uncle informing me that he had gone to St Petersburg on a business trip: as if it would make any difference to me whether he went or not, probably popped over to kill a few people in suits, for the mafia's sake.
Then I commenced with Double History, where Evelyn Taylor answered all the questions I know the answer to before looking at me in a smug 'I just answered a question' way. She kept on staring at me. Probably wondering how I could drag such an amazingly oversized nose around all day without falling over. I wish she would go away.
Ah! Preparations for the Hallowe'en Ball. Sirius has had fifteen offerings I think, by pathetic blonde herons who have nothing in their heads but everything in their bra. Potter achieved three, none of which he has accepted for Lily Evans Reasons. Malfoy obviously as his little band of Slytherin purebloods attached to his arm. Rosier has his annoying high- pitched rodent of a girl, Wilkes has his. Crabbe and Goyle, or as I prefer, Twiddle-dum and Twiddle-dee, have their brainless rotund illiterate girlfriends. Although, I'm not sure they know what the title 'girlfriend' entails. In fact, I think Twiddle-dee was shocked at the fact that people do in fact kiss in real life, not in the picture books he reads.
I will stay in my room, and as everyone will be out, I can have free reign of the chess-board. Thrilling prospects. Life doesn't get any better than this. Although, now thinking about it, for me as I never will kiss, this phenomenon will remain in their fairy-tale state. So, I will never know whether it actually exists or not. Perhaps it is a weird sexual matrix that is pulled in front of my eyes. Perhaps everything exists only through the mind and not in physical reality and... Wait...this is not all...at supper, Evelyn Taylor sat next to me and began to talk to me. God forbid! I didn't answer her, only in grunts, and then I left as quickly as humanly possible. This is why I am still very hungry.
And my potion efforts were for nothing, as Peeves has decided it wise by poltergeist standards, to tip my cauldron over, on which I have been working on for over a month.