Diary entry on diaries - is that irony or something else? Self-reflexive art? ...whatever!
I like journals. I've always kept one, ever since I was... hm, I think dad bought me a blank book for my fifth birthday, and I filled up the pages with drawings of unicorns. I was really into unicorns back then. Couldn't draw them to save my life, though - I tried to show one once to somebody, some chum of mine or other, and he thought it was an armchair. Armchair, indeed! What's the horn supposed to be, a cushion??
...five-year-old drawings aside, ever since that auspicious start, I've always had at least one diary or journal or something to put my thoughts in. When I started getting a bit older, I'd try to charm them so no one could open them or read them; didn't work so well, and when that snooping Clara Elcott got her eyebrows turned into grass from my spell, I got in a bit of trouble...
...my, I'm just full of old memories tonight, aren't I? I stopped putting hexes on my journals after the Elcott incident (but she never bothered me again, did she? cured her snooping, anyway), and for a while I tried to not write down anything that was at all important to me - I'd just put in 'to do' lists or things I needed to remember or schoolwork, that kind of thing, but no real thoughts or secrets. But then, you know, do that for a while when you're used to organizing your feelings on paper, and you end up a bit scattery-spazzed.
Anyone who's known me for a while will probably say right here "Tonks, you're always more than a bit scattery-spazzed, anyway!" They'll probably go on to say "Scattery-spazzed isn't a real word, either", but I'll blithely ignore them and just say "Worse than usual." And then they'll try to picture that, and die of fright. Which will be a bit of a blessing, since by this time they're frankly annoying me.
Where was I? Right, being scattery-spazzed (or is it spazzery-scatt?). I tried to go without proper journalling, and couldn't take it. I went right back to my old ways. Sounds like an addiction or something. I guess it is, in a way; you get used to having a place to keep your brain outside of your head. How do other people do it? I just get so filled up with thoughts and things that I feel I'm about to explode, or that I have to jump up and scream and run around in circles and throws things out the window or dance on the rooftop or something, I don't know. Times like those, my only options are a) break stuff (which I try to avoid when I can, though it's not often I can), b) turn my hair the BRIGHTEST UGLIEST YELLOW-GREEN-RED COLOUR IMAGINABLE, or c) ...write it down.
I like B quite a bit, actually. Though this pink is nice for now (and it matches my shirt, too. Ligur called it "chewing gum pink", but I don't listen to demons who are only there for comic relief in the first place).
So I end up journalling again. But now... well. Stuff changes when you get older, and the things that I get spazzed about aren't just "omg I have the biggest crush on this cute boy" anymore. And with... everything else, I don't know how safe I feel, keeping a real, proper diary. Nor do I trust charms or hexes to protect it - even the strongest spell can be broken or reversed, and I don't want to rely on fallible magic for something important.
What I need is just a plain Muggle notebook, that I can write in with a plain Muggle pen, and once I've written, in a place where no one can read over my shoulder or anything, I need to burn the paper and get rid of the ashes.
Which brings up the issue of destroying one's own thoughts. I don't like it, frankly. But what're you gonna do?
...five-year-old drawings aside, ever since that auspicious start, I've always had at least one diary or journal or something to put my thoughts in. When I started getting a bit older, I'd try to charm them so no one could open them or read them; didn't work so well, and when that snooping Clara Elcott got her eyebrows turned into grass from my spell, I got in a bit of trouble...
...my, I'm just full of old memories tonight, aren't I? I stopped putting hexes on my journals after the Elcott incident (but she never bothered me again, did she? cured her snooping, anyway), and for a while I tried to not write down anything that was at all important to me - I'd just put in 'to do' lists or things I needed to remember or schoolwork, that kind of thing, but no real thoughts or secrets. But then, you know, do that for a while when you're used to organizing your feelings on paper, and you end up a bit scattery-spazzed.
Anyone who's known me for a while will probably say right here "Tonks, you're always more than a bit scattery-spazzed, anyway!" They'll probably go on to say "Scattery-spazzed isn't a real word, either", but I'll blithely ignore them and just say "Worse than usual." And then they'll try to picture that, and die of fright. Which will be a bit of a blessing, since by this time they're frankly annoying me.
Where was I? Right, being scattery-spazzed (or is it spazzery-scatt?). I tried to go without proper journalling, and couldn't take it. I went right back to my old ways. Sounds like an addiction or something. I guess it is, in a way; you get used to having a place to keep your brain outside of your head. How do other people do it? I just get so filled up with thoughts and things that I feel I'm about to explode, or that I have to jump up and scream and run around in circles and throws things out the window or dance on the rooftop or something, I don't know. Times like those, my only options are a) break stuff (which I try to avoid when I can, though it's not often I can), b) turn my hair the BRIGHTEST UGLIEST YELLOW-GREEN-RED COLOUR IMAGINABLE, or c) ...write it down.
I like B quite a bit, actually. Though this pink is nice for now (and it matches my shirt, too. Ligur called it "chewing gum pink", but I don't listen to demons who are only there for comic relief in the first place).
So I end up journalling again. But now... well. Stuff changes when you get older, and the things that I get spazzed about aren't just "omg I have the biggest crush on this cute boy" anymore. And with... everything else, I don't know how safe I feel, keeping a real, proper diary. Nor do I trust charms or hexes to protect it - even the strongest spell can be broken or reversed, and I don't want to rely on fallible magic for something important.
What I need is just a plain Muggle notebook, that I can write in with a plain Muggle pen, and once I've written, in a place where no one can read over my shoulder or anything, I need to burn the paper and get rid of the ashes.
Which brings up the issue of destroying one's own thoughts. I don't like it, frankly. But what're you gonna do?