I'm not really feeling any better
and I thought I would be by now. I've not written in this journal since October 9; I feel very unpractised and a bit petrified (not scared petrified, but just unclear as to how to do this anymore). It occurred to me that I really haven't anything of interest to note really, generally speaking. We all like to think of ourselves as so wittingly unique and special that surely
others will recognise our brilliance and profound insights; however, the truth is there is always someone more
brilliant and even wittier, and another someone beyond that, so none of us are really very interesting when it comes down to it. Therefore, I have nothing profound to say. Instead I shall contemplate my utter banality.
I am Pansy Parkinson. I am plain-looking and ill-tempered. I am the 7th year female Prefect for Slytherin. I am clever at my schoolwork, but lately I've come to no longer care about marks so much. I am talented at Charms, Defence, and Runes; I can't Transfigure worth a shite, and Arithmancy makes no sense to me. I like things no one else cares about, such as bowtruckles and butterscotch. Some days the most interesting thing about me is the fact that my mere existence causes some people to become agitated and over-excited. I have two friends. I'm horribly prissy and I have a weak spot for ridiculous literature featuring pirates and torn clothing. I turn my dead pets into accessories. I'm to leave this place finally, in six months time, and all I know is I want to stand out for something
I was going to pontificate on how "love" is fucked up, but who really cares? It's not like anyone will read this but me.