Good Morning, today is the day I decided to start writing my life, because apart from teaching students a bit of hocus pocus all day every day for over 40 years now, my life could be quite interesting.
I woke up at 6:30am on a drab and cloudy Tuesday morning in my "luxury" bedroom in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland, because I have the absolute PLEASURE of working there. Goodness, I sound like Severus; miserable and sarcastic. And an absolute pain in the arse.
I picked out my favourite bottle green robe and my ancient pointy hat (that has to be about 10 years old now, surely) before I set off for breakfast with my colleagues. I decided to get there early this morning, as the students usually beat me to the Great Hall and when they get the food, all that is left is muesli. Do NOT tell Albus of my saying so, but I cannot bear muesli. The raisins are just - oh, my gosh. I want to be sick even thinking about it.
Yes! There were pancakes this morning. I sat next to Albus whilst eating, dribbling golden syrup over my pancakes as he informed me all about his new boyfriend and his crush on Neville Longbottom. It's like he said in that eventful Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart: "Why is it always me?"
In the hour that followed after breakfast, I cleared the children's chewing gum from underneath their desks in my classroom. What is it with children and chewing gum? Why is it that some teenagers are so ridiculously absent-minded that their jaws have to be moving up, and down, and up, and down, and up, and down?! How can they concentrate on turning beetles into buttons while they can hear their unhygienic bacteria-infested saliva swilling their young mouths with CHEWING GUM?!
But anyway, the day dragged on, and as I got a migraine and I lost my voice, the only thing those gum-chewing children learnt today was how to write slightly inappropriate words on the blackboard using their wands. They ARE very gifted, aren't they?
I realised that the only thing that make this day slightly better was my guilty pleasure...
SALSA DANCE CLASSES FOR THE OVER 70'S!
So I took my carriage into Hogsmeade, not stopping for a drink with Rosmerta (I didn't want to hear her latest gossip about Hagrid; he's not REALLY a stalker and she knows that!) and I arrived at the hall. The Hall is just a building with a hall where everyone dances. Normal, right?
Until I had to go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and whatnot because I twisted my ankle.
And NO ONE EVEN VISITED ME!
So, after such a terrible day, I decided that this diary is cursed, so I burnt it.
*This short yet informative journal entry was found in the deep, fiery pits of hell.