October 14th,
1 p.m.
Dear diary,
Peace, finally…
No, I am not converted to the hippie belief. Whatever that belief may be- those few 7th years Hufflepuffs with their long, pink/purple/blue colored hairs and flowers everywhere don't know it themselves, I believe. But that isn't exactly my point, here.
The point is: the Marauders have now for more than two weeks been unusually calm. Perhaps we won't have a negative score at the end of term. Hooray!
No, really, I finally get some desperately-needed rest now. Well, at least- regarding the Marauders. Rolanda and Poppy are still totally raving over Albus, of course. Yet, because I don't plan on dying prematurely of a heart attack, I ignore them. As long as they don't embarrass me…
But who am I fooling, actually? They *will* embarrass me. That's one of Rolanda Hooch's greatest talents- except perhaps Quidditch. And for that matter, Poppy's not bad either.
Whatever- they'll embarrass me, I'll hex them. That's life, I suppose.
But I don't want to be embarrassed! I want Albus!
And I really need to stop being such a child.
"I want Albus!"!
Okay, it's true, but still it's not like there is the faintest bit of hope I'll ever get him.
Oh no- I am taking over Rolanda's expressions as well. "Get him"… god…
But it's true- Albus likes me, as his friend, but as nothing more. He never will, also. And after all- why should he? I am so much younger than he is, he's the most powerful wizard of this century and who am I? A way too pale, way too thin, utterly non-interesting pathetic middle-aged spinster.
And loving Albus is apparently terrible for my self-esteem.
Okay, I haven't had a boyfriend since I was six. Whatever. It's not like I have ever had someone whom I wished to be with. Except Albus.
It's always Albus.
And by the way, Poppy and Rolanda don't have love lives either. Well, Poppy hasn't got one, and Rolanda has got too much of it. Her boyfriends are or hippies, or punks, or just very, very weird people. Go Ro! Or… no… don't go, Ro.
One question, though.
Am I the only thirty-six-year old who is still a virgin?
Oh, shut up.
Goodnight.
1 p.m.
Dear diary,
Peace, finally…
No, I am not converted to the hippie belief. Whatever that belief may be- those few 7th years Hufflepuffs with their long, pink/purple/blue colored hairs and flowers everywhere don't know it themselves, I believe. But that isn't exactly my point, here.
The point is: the Marauders have now for more than two weeks been unusually calm. Perhaps we won't have a negative score at the end of term. Hooray!
No, really, I finally get some desperately-needed rest now. Well, at least- regarding the Marauders. Rolanda and Poppy are still totally raving over Albus, of course. Yet, because I don't plan on dying prematurely of a heart attack, I ignore them. As long as they don't embarrass me…
But who am I fooling, actually? They *will* embarrass me. That's one of Rolanda Hooch's greatest talents- except perhaps Quidditch. And for that matter, Poppy's not bad either.
Whatever- they'll embarrass me, I'll hex them. That's life, I suppose.
But I don't want to be embarrassed! I want Albus!
And I really need to stop being such a child.
"I want Albus!"!
Okay, it's true, but still it's not like there is the faintest bit of hope I'll ever get him.
Oh no- I am taking over Rolanda's expressions as well. "Get him"… god…
But it's true- Albus likes me, as his friend, but as nothing more. He never will, also. And after all- why should he? I am so much younger than he is, he's the most powerful wizard of this century and who am I? A way too pale, way too thin, utterly non-interesting pathetic middle-aged spinster.
And loving Albus is apparently terrible for my self-esteem.
Okay, I haven't had a boyfriend since I was six. Whatever. It's not like I have ever had someone whom I wished to be with. Except Albus.
It's always Albus.
And by the way, Poppy and Rolanda don't have love lives either. Well, Poppy hasn't got one, and Rolanda has got too much of it. Her boyfriends are or hippies, or punks, or just very, very weird people. Go Ro! Or… no… don't go, Ro.
One question, though.
Am I the only thirty-six-year old who is still a virgin?
Oh, shut up.
Goodnight.