Unavoidable.
I've found myself with a spare moment, and have decided not to prolong the inevitable. I am quite incensed at the moment, due to the ridiculous actions of Professor Snape. It's a shame to have someone whom I so admire attempt to destroy my life in every way possible. A project is bad enough, but assigned partners. Really, what are we, first years? It's utterly moronic, and I do not wish to speak to him for at least two weeks, save for answering questions in class. I won't need to be asking them, of course. A Slytherin unable to excel in Potions is like a Ravenclaw unable to read horribly boring books and somehow find them interesting.
Also, I am writing an entry because I have to do this: Terry Boot, contact me about getting together to work on this thing, and I will let you know what times are good for me.
In other news, I attempted to read the entries written by my comrades, but I was so disturbed by the several thousand entries written by a certain plant-head that I simply had to throw my journal across the room and not look at it for several hours. I really don't understand some people's obsession with these monstrosities. They're hardly interesting, unless you care to read the half-witted ramblings of completely risible people. I know that I only read the entries written by my fellow Slytherins, unless I notice or someone informs me that I'm mentioned in another one. Honestly, I can't imagine what it could be like to have so much time on my hands. It must be horrible, really, to have such a lacking social life.
I don't really wish to discuss that anymore. You'll all be happy to know that the fourth year has finally let me alone. I told one of its friends that I would pay him a galleon if he was able to make it stop its incessant staring, and he consented, signing the contract and all that. Of course, he never read the fine print (imbecilic fourth years), and I spotted his strange friend staring at my chest during breakfast this morning, though it glanced away when I looked up, and so I don't have to pay him at all. As if I would! My galleons are not going to an idiotic fourth year's Zonko's fund, or Mad Muggle comic collection. Besides, people should just do that for me, regardless. Really.
I will have no choice but to discuss this until it finally is over with. Mexico. Uncle has sent me more brochures, although I made it quite clear in my last letter that I refuse to read about that Hell. Of course, he's too preoccupied with coveting his Spanish prostitute to read my letters, and so he likely doesn't know that. I don't know what I'm going to do with him, really. I'll have to find a way to break the two of them up. It would be so much easier if Uncle was asexual as I'd previously thought, but it is, indeed, impossible for a human to bud without the help of a (very frightening) potion, so it was wishful thinking in the first place. Still, he should be asexual. It would make my life millions of times easier. That dirty, dirty man.
I've been quite the good samaritan over these past few days. I helped Ethan Leland Worthington before his drinking could turn into a disgusting form of alcoholism and saved Hogwarts from ever having to read his absolutely terrible drunken scrawls again, despite the fact that it intervened with my sleep schedule. He quite appreciates it; he told me so. It would be utterly unnatural for him not to, honestly. Moving on, I have makeup and accessories to plan before I go to bed.
-- Tracey Davis
Also, I am writing an entry because I have to do this: Terry Boot, contact me about getting together to work on this thing, and I will let you know what times are good for me.
In other news, I attempted to read the entries written by my comrades, but I was so disturbed by the several thousand entries written by a certain plant-head that I simply had to throw my journal across the room and not look at it for several hours. I really don't understand some people's obsession with these monstrosities. They're hardly interesting, unless you care to read the half-witted ramblings of completely risible people. I know that I only read the entries written by my fellow Slytherins, unless I notice or someone informs me that I'm mentioned in another one. Honestly, I can't imagine what it could be like to have so much time on my hands. It must be horrible, really, to have such a lacking social life.
I don't really wish to discuss that anymore. You'll all be happy to know that the fourth year has finally let me alone. I told one of its friends that I would pay him a galleon if he was able to make it stop its incessant staring, and he consented, signing the contract and all that. Of course, he never read the fine print (imbecilic fourth years), and I spotted his strange friend staring at my chest during breakfast this morning, though it glanced away when I looked up, and so I don't have to pay him at all. As if I would! My galleons are not going to an idiotic fourth year's Zonko's fund, or Mad Muggle comic collection. Besides, people should just do that for me, regardless. Really.
I will have no choice but to discuss this until it finally is over with. Mexico. Uncle has sent me more brochures, although I made it quite clear in my last letter that I refuse to read about that Hell. Of course, he's too preoccupied with coveting his Spanish prostitute to read my letters, and so he likely doesn't know that. I don't know what I'm going to do with him, really. I'll have to find a way to break the two of them up. It would be so much easier if Uncle was asexual as I'd previously thought, but it is, indeed, impossible for a human to bud without the help of a (very frightening) potion, so it was wishful thinking in the first place. Still, he should be asexual. It would make my life millions of times easier. That dirty, dirty man.
I've been quite the good samaritan over these past few days. I helped Ethan Leland Worthington before his drinking could turn into a disgusting form of alcoholism and saved Hogwarts from ever having to read his absolutely terrible drunken scrawls again, despite the fact that it intervened with my sleep schedule. He quite appreciates it; he told me so. It would be utterly unnatural for him not to, honestly. Moving on, I have makeup and accessories to plan before I go to bed.
-- Tracey Davis