July 8- 12:00am-at the burrow
I have always thought myself to be a logical being. Like a Vulcan from the show Star Trek that my father was always watching. I like to analyze everything. Weigh all my opions. Think things through so throughly that I'm sure I can't be wrong. I found I could use this, somewhat obsessive, method of living in every aspect of my life. All except for one thing that is. Though this "thing" is not a thing at all. He is a person to be exact. And to be even more exact that person is, Fred Weasley.
No matter how hard I try, I can not fuction properly when that...that...boy is around. See! Even when I'm only thinking of him I can't think of things to say. I'm pathectic. That's all there is to it. Everytime he's aound me I go all weak in the knees. When he walks into a room it feels as if the air is being sucked out and I gasp for breath. My heart pounds and my stomache feels as if a hamster is using it as a treadmill. Seriously, why people think these kind of reactions are romantic is beyond me. It sounds as if I'm describing some horrible disease that you can only get on some remote tropical island. Ugg. Sometimes I wish I was still at the age where boys had cooties and talking to yourself was deemed "cute" by your elders.
But, I am sure you are wondering Diary (may I call you Diary? or you prefer Ma'am?)...okay you can let me know later. Anyway, I'm sure you are wondering why I am up at this hour. Well there are numerous factors that play a key role in my current sleepless situation.
One: The ghoul in the attic, who apparently has a multipule personality disorder, thinks he is King Henry the Eighth and is currently attempting to chop up what sounds like a Graden Gnome. I believe he is trying to say "Off with her head!", but it just comes out, "OWERF WIF ER ED!" Two: The other Garden Gnome's are now trying to free their captive comrade in a rather pointless, albeit brave, charge of the front door. Three: My lovely cat Crookshanks is clawing up my thighs in attemps to escape from the blanket prison I was forced to trap him in. Four: Ginny snores like a dragon in heat. (Personally, I have never heard a dragon snore whilst it's in heat, but I have heard enough stories from Charlie to use this comparison) Five: Pig is flying around the room in his usual loud, banging, shrieking way. Six: I have cramps so painful that it feels like a Hippogriff is tearing its way out of my stomache. Seven: Right before I went to bed I made an attempt to use the washroom only to find a stark naked Ronald Weasley falling out of the shower. Eight: Everytime I close my eyes I see that bloody (but oh so good looking) prankster...or Ron naked. I cringe everytime I see the latter and open my eyes so fast I'm surprised i still have eyelashes left.
And Nine...the worst of them all: I've just figured out that I'm in love with Fred Weasely