October 19th
0.30 a.m.
Dear diary,
I guess this is the point when one reaches the border of "pathetic" and enters the merry, fairytale land of "utterly, helplessly pathetic". Apparently, I can't even write to my diary what I want to write, without being terribly, utterly ashamed and feeling like a totally sad kind of person. Because that, my dear diary, is exactly the way I feel after my confession of now precisely… twelve hours, thirty-one minutes and nine seconds ago. And why, after all? I guess I am not the only thirty-six year old who is… that thing, now am I?
Oh yes, I bloody well am…
It is all so unfair, dear diary- and oh no, now I am going all whiny on top of it…
But it is true. It all started years ago, at school, here, at Hogwarts. I was smart, you know, and I loved learning. Yet even if I didn't study, my grades were wonderful- and of course, people were jealous. All the time- people were jealous of me, and I knew that, when I exceptionally got a bad grade- a really bad grade-, even though they acted as if they were sorry for me, that they laughed at me behind my back…
I had friends, yes, or what can pass as friends, but even they…
I lost my best friend because of jealousy when I was sixteen, dear diary. It came like a bolt from the blue. One day, we were fine, the next day, I found a letter… The meanest and absolutely… lowest letter I have ever received. So she "had to be honest with herself and write this letter". So she "wanted to spend less time together". So she "didn't want to lose our friendship, but she had a feeling it was inevitable". So she was tired of me and so she wanted to ditch me.
We had been best friends for six bloody years. Did she really think I had never been tired of her? Did she? Did she?
But I wanted to fight for my best friend, no matter what. She didn't. She ditched me, immediately found another friend, and I was just, like that, left outside alone.
I had other "friends", but they all had their own little groups and their own best friends and I was alone.
In that very sad, last term of my fifth year, my teachers were my best friends.
Or, at least one of them. Guess who.
And months, years went on. I never had really good friends again. I never had boyfriends, dear diary, call me pathetic, call me sad, but that was exactly the way it was.
I wasn't ugly, and I wasn't unkind- well, so I realized years later- but I apparently was too intelligent for "their world". I always have been grateful for my brains, but that was the time when I realized they were a curse as well as a blessing.
I grew more and more serious. No fun and childish parties for the formidable Minerva McGonagall. She- I-, became a teacher soon after she graduated, and goodbye whatever I had left of a youth.
And yes, I found two friends of whom I am pretty sure- Poppy and Rolanda, that is- but it still is very difficult to put my entire trust into someone. Except, perhaps, that special someone, because, when I returned to Hogwarts, at least one thing was sure.
I totally, helplessly, fell in love with Albus all over again.
So that is my story, dear diary, now aren't I pathetic?
Damn, bloody hell, after thirty-six years on this planet, I don't know who I am, I don't know what I do, I don't know what I need- but… but hey, I do know what I want.
I want ALBUS!
Goodnight.
0.30 a.m.
Dear diary,
I guess this is the point when one reaches the border of "pathetic" and enters the merry, fairytale land of "utterly, helplessly pathetic". Apparently, I can't even write to my diary what I want to write, without being terribly, utterly ashamed and feeling like a totally sad kind of person. Because that, my dear diary, is exactly the way I feel after my confession of now precisely… twelve hours, thirty-one minutes and nine seconds ago. And why, after all? I guess I am not the only thirty-six year old who is… that thing, now am I?
Oh yes, I bloody well am…
It is all so unfair, dear diary- and oh no, now I am going all whiny on top of it…
But it is true. It all started years ago, at school, here, at Hogwarts. I was smart, you know, and I loved learning. Yet even if I didn't study, my grades were wonderful- and of course, people were jealous. All the time- people were jealous of me, and I knew that, when I exceptionally got a bad grade- a really bad grade-, even though they acted as if they were sorry for me, that they laughed at me behind my back…
I had friends, yes, or what can pass as friends, but even they…
I lost my best friend because of jealousy when I was sixteen, dear diary. It came like a bolt from the blue. One day, we were fine, the next day, I found a letter… The meanest and absolutely… lowest letter I have ever received. So she "had to be honest with herself and write this letter". So she "wanted to spend less time together". So she "didn't want to lose our friendship, but she had a feeling it was inevitable". So she was tired of me and so she wanted to ditch me.
We had been best friends for six bloody years. Did she really think I had never been tired of her? Did she? Did she?
But I wanted to fight for my best friend, no matter what. She didn't. She ditched me, immediately found another friend, and I was just, like that, left outside alone.
I had other "friends", but they all had their own little groups and their own best friends and I was alone.
In that very sad, last term of my fifth year, my teachers were my best friends.
Or, at least one of them. Guess who.
And months, years went on. I never had really good friends again. I never had boyfriends, dear diary, call me pathetic, call me sad, but that was exactly the way it was.
I wasn't ugly, and I wasn't unkind- well, so I realized years later- but I apparently was too intelligent for "their world". I always have been grateful for my brains, but that was the time when I realized they were a curse as well as a blessing.
I grew more and more serious. No fun and childish parties for the formidable Minerva McGonagall. She- I-, became a teacher soon after she graduated, and goodbye whatever I had left of a youth.
And yes, I found two friends of whom I am pretty sure- Poppy and Rolanda, that is- but it still is very difficult to put my entire trust into someone. Except, perhaps, that special someone, because, when I returned to Hogwarts, at least one thing was sure.
I totally, helplessly, fell in love with Albus all over again.
So that is my story, dear diary, now aren't I pathetic?
Damn, bloody hell, after thirty-six years on this planet, I don't know who I am, I don't know what I do, I don't know what I need- but… but hey, I do know what I want.
I want ALBUS!
Goodnight.