there's many things I wish I didn't do.
This is disturbing. Far, far too disturbing. And I shouldn't be disturbed, I know Nick isn't sick or anything and it isn't even illegal. I know I've been there before. Which is possibly why it disturbs me so much, because I know how easy it is.
But then again, they're two very different people. Or they used to be, lord knows what to think with Bellatrix these days. But...it just disturbs me that she still strikes me as a kid, as a student. But she's with Nick, and I can't get over this easily. I tried. I was trying to find something outside of academia where I could talk to her, like an adult to adult. Not like she was the most innocent thing on the planet who might as well be sixteen or sixty and I'd still be disturbed.
It's not fair to be so. Which is exactly why I made an effort to put it right. Nick can't know I need to put it right, because he's my friend and I am happy he's happy. But there's something about it which makes me shudder. I don't think it's anything real. Or I'd find a way of putting a stop to it. It's just my head messing with me. Being its usual annoying, hung up self.
But I'll fight it. I'll prove to me it's all logical and right. I just sincerely hope she plays along.
On other news, I'm not nearly as tired now Livia gives me a hand with the apparating and so on. It means I get to see more of my family, I'm better at work and generally more here. I'm still tired, but it's much, much better.
I just hope Livia's feeling better about the whole situation. I really do. Because I know for a fact neither of us wanted this to be a stereotypical marriage. I'll...I'll see.
Hi there. I have two things to ask you. First of all, Rita. What does she like? That is not in the slightest academic?
Also...actually, this just turned into three things. You and Liza wanted to come over, yes? Busy this weekend?
Thirdly, do you and/or Liza fancy watching Mathieu for one night at some point soon?
I'm in bed. You're not here. I think this a distinct problem which needs to be resolved. And if you say I should get up and not be lazy, I'm going to keep glaring at my scroll. I'm going to ask Rita Skeeter if she wants to come have coffee with me. I thought I'd tell you, in case you thought I was running off with some young blonde thing, which would be frankly preposterous on the grounds that you're young, far better than blonde and by no means a 'thing'. Also, is everything alright? I mean...everything we discussed and all that.
Miss Skee Ri
Miss Skeeter,
I should probably apologise for being rather rude earlier, that was my fault entirely, I was just rather caught up in a certain pattern of thinking and it was my mistake entirely. However, if you don't find it too presumptuous or direct, I was wondering if you would like to come and have a cup of coffee with me some afternoon. Please don't think I'm doing this to judge you or anything like that, I just want to know you a bit better, or maybe just have a ten minute chat with you.
Merci d'avance,
Prof Abime Delame.
I do like Sunday mornings. They sort of do for humans what winter does for bears. All of a sudden you realise there are six thousand, nine hundred and four ways to do nothing in bed. You can find the differences between a nap, a snooze and a siesta and last week's newspaper becomes vaguely interesting again. You can think of all the things you need to do, then realise you don't have to do them right now. You can then think of all the poor religious sods who are wasting their sunday crossing themselves and feeling guilty (well, at least in France you can. In Britain, it'd be more a thinking of all the poor sods stuck going 'more tea, Vicar?').
It is, after all, easy, a sunday morning. A dimanche, mes amis, a dimanche. this is at least until your son shatters the illusion by screaming his lungs off.