February 10th, 2004


(no subject)

I'm in a bit of a wistful mood now.

I've been thinking about fate, the idea of 'meant to be.' It's a melancholy thought, for some reason. 'Meant to be...' I'm not sure if I like it. Do I want to make choices for myself, or do I want them already made, knowing I couldn't do anything wrong, just what I was supposed to do...

I like the idea of not being able to do anything wrong, but I don't know if I'd be willing to give over my ability to choose for it.

Some how whenever I think about fate, I think about love. That 'one true love' every is always talking about. I hope it exists. I hope that eventually I will meet that one person who loves me more than anything else, who would die for me. I would add the one man I would die for, but I would freely give myself to save anyone else, always...

I suppose what makes me melancholy is, if my 'one true love' is out there, I don't want to work for it. It's selfish, I know, to be so sublimely happy without having to do anything for it. But it's just what I want. I don't want to have to go through all of the games and the failures and the awkwardness. I just want to be sublimely happy without all of the confusion.

I'm selfish, and I'm tired. I'm tired of being so unhappy on the inside, deep inside, where even I can't see it. I am happy, I am, but, I just want this all to be over... I want to be happy inside and out, I want to love and be loved I want to die for love, not just for happiness. I want the last words out of my mouth to be 'I love you,' and really mean it.

I want to be important. I want to do something, mean something! To someone, anyone! I feel so small and insignificant. I feel like that chapter in the text book that the teacher always skips for some reason. It's there, it says something, it was made, but it's not important.

Listen to me, I sound like I'm about to jump off a cliff or something. The image of my parents' faces make me smile, and the warm green slime that cures frostbite makes me smile, Sebastian's eyes make me smile, Spook makes me smile, everything makes me smile so much. I'm only unhappy when I think about it too much. I shouldn't think about the struggle, just the outcome.

When I really want to be happy, I just close my eyes and imagine myself standing on the grass of a quidditch pitch, watching all of the players flying above me. I'm wearing the mediwitch red and white stripes and holding my broom in one hand and my medical bag in the other. I'm prepared, but for that moment it doesn't matter. The sun is out and there's a slight wind, so my face is warm and cooled all at the same time. The crowd is cheering but it's drowned out by the sound of brooms above me. A seeker passes me quickly but I don't flinch, I'm cool and confident. But with all of this going on. All the sound and feelings. The only thing I really see very well, is the small, satisfied smirk on my face, knowing that I had done it, I had become what I always dreamed of being. That I had succeeded.

Hmm. I'm not wistful anymore. I imagine I have a happy expression on my face now. I have to get there, I can't let anger or sadness keep me from it. I can have everything I want. I can help people and be loved, I just need to remain happy in the meanwhile.

I wish you well.

(no subject)

I feel happy. I had a sore throat earlier today but I had some eyebright tea and now I feel fine. The honey does help.

Madam Pomfrey is reorganizing her supplies again. She drew up what goes where and is allowing for me to set it up. It's just following her plan, but still I feel happy to be so trusted by her.

Spook is watching my quill as I write. When I do my homework, he'll just sit and watch it for all of the long hours, then he falls asleep.

Although passionflower works well in strengthening boxwood's healing properties, when it interacts with extract of sundew (which relieves coughing,) it produces a nasty gray smoke which actually, and ironically, causes fits of coughing for whoever breathes it. Potions, of any kind, is a very exact art.

I wish you well.