Very tired. I wish that I could take Dreamless Sleep—but, of course, it's not meant for constant use and I've built up a resistance to it. Coffee, too, but I still chug it every morning out of sheer habit. That's the Severus Snape morning routine—arise, jump in a cold shower for ten seconds, coffee, robes, and brushing my teeth. Very mundane, very classic. My bruise is healing slowly. I had to hide my pounding headache from the students all day. One of those idiot Second-Year Hufflepuffs practically destroyed my classroom. Isn't life grand?
At least the new issue of Potionmaking Monthly arrived today. I've got another article in there, on the adhesive properties of a newly bred mushroom. Of course, they didn't print my picture. They'll never print my picture, since I never bother to send one in. After every article, they print, "Severus Snape is the Potions Master at Hogwarts School and is a regular contributor to Potionmaking Monthly." That's it. I don't tell them anything else about me, either. There's not a whole lot more to say, frankly—I suppose they could state my age, and how long I've taught, and that I enjoy reading—but, honestly, who gives a damn? Not until I'm dead, they won't give a damn.
Getting off the morbid track—I need to watch that—I plan on cutting my hair tonight. I'm starting to look like Black—oh, who am I kidding? I mean my hair is starting to look like Black's. Except that mine is—as the students so eloquently put it—greasy. I suppose I don't pay enough attention to my hair, or any aspect of my looks, but it doesn't matter. I've got no one to impress and better things to do. Besides, the harder I tried, the more pathetic it would probably seem. Speaking of having better things to do, one of PM's Letters to the Editor somehow found fault with a past article of mine. I must write a scathing reply while the insult lingers.