Network

I am so tired. I didn't get a bit of sleep last night. I don't know what's going on but it seems that the nightmares that have been plaguing so many finally found their way to my house. The dream started nicely enough. I was sitting in this large comfortable room curled up on a sofa with a book before the fireplace. Next thing I knew there was screaming coming from a girl standing by one of the windows. We all rushed to see what was going on and there was a giant skull in the sky with a snake coming out of it's mouth.

When I awoke I had this horrible pit in my stomach. I hadn't felt that kind of heaviness since my friend Jennifer died back in high school. The worst part was that every time I tried to go back to sleep the image was imprinted on my mind and the feeling of dread washed over me and wouldn't let go. Since I couldn't sleep I grabbed the sketch book and sketched it out so it would leave my mind. The image was still there when I closed my eyes but the dread lifted a bit. It was as if by sketching it out I took ownership over the image rather than it having ownership of me.

Is a teenage boy supposed to cry when one makes an observation about the size of his penis?

Finals are finally over, and now I'm going to absolutely get around to that promise I always make to myself to meet new people. So hello, new people! I'm Hermione, it's very nice to meet you all.

Well, digitally speaking.

I think I need a hobby of some sort. Preferably of the stress-reducing kind.

Otherwise, I think I may actually end up throwing one of my students out a window next year.

So. I have a job. Working for Garret! I'm like a secretary.

Someone had the brilliant idea of burning down Disneyland but there was a disagreement as to how to go about it.

So I'm free for today.

Right. Valar net, is it? I'd like to take this moment to announce that I think the vast majority of the internet is a fat load of cack and a festering vile pit of cyber-crime and hacking, and balding wrinkly old men trying to get into little girls' knickers while typing out convenient meeting places, one-handedly. The whole thing can go up in flames so that I can light a cigarette off it, and feel the burn of sheer pleasure racing through my lungs.

Except for the legitimate pornography. We can keep that. It can be preserved for posterity. Like fine art.

Now that I'm apparently stuck here close by Disneyland, which we all know was founded by a probable Jew hater and is quite literally my idea of hell on earth? Please, drooling worshipers of your monitor screens, be so kind as to give me pointers to where I can go to get absolutely tanked out of my bloody mind. Pubs. I need pubs. Because I've gone fourty minutes without something alcoholic being filtered through my liver. That is thirty minutes too long.

I might not survive.

Are you happy, Six? I finally got on this bloody thing. It only took me all day to set up. Who comes up with these things? They should be shot.

[Locked to Family]

Hello dearies. We're going to have fun.