September 7, 1991
Sunday
Sunday, how curious. Sunday as in 'sun day'?
Yes, the weather is beautiful. Everybody keeps laying on the grounds, a cup of cold lemonade in their hand, and doing their homework under the shade of a tree.
I must admit, I was tempted to join them. I have about 500 essays to correct, but it would have meant going under a tree, lying on the ground (in my 50 Galleon robes, might I add,) and wait for the bugs to attack me. That also, in my mind, just screams 'Here birdie, birdie, birdie! Your piss pot is over here! Come on, don't be shy, just go and fuck on Severus Snape.'
Pardon my language, but really, that's what it felt like.
September 9,1991
Tuesday
Filch thought that it would be amusing to knock on my door, place a basket in front of it, then run. When I opened my door I really freaked out. Really, you would too if you found a basket of kittens on it. Also, to add to my temper, a five step cure to drinking problems. Then, under that, a disk labeled 'A Night's Romance by John Geuleinback'
Why, I ask, does the world hate me so much? And now I ask myself weather I would hate the world right back if it had just been good to me.
October 21, 1991
I found my journal in the bottom of my potions ingredients cupboard. Who has been in my rooms?
And why.