Saturday, October 16, 1994
As I sit here at the head of my bed, I have to wonder just what sort of beginning would be appropriate for a journal of one's thoughts. Perhaps establishing it similar to a letter to a companion, as if I would send it by owl just after implementation. Or perhaps I should just initiate the process all at once, revealing my thoughts of current events without prior recording such events that have concluded to such… bewilderment. Though without writing down prior data would be illogical, as having everything in one place would assist in perhaps… one day concluding what alludes me at the moment.
I can only hope this is so.
Hm, how to begin. I suppose the beginning of all the difficulties would be appropriate, of course.
As with every other weekend, I attend Hogsmeade to visit the stores and restock on any quills or parchment that I may need. As is my routine. So I entered into the establishment known as Scrivenshaft's Quills to do as such, though, this time without its proper conclusion.
Upon entering, I stood calmly in the first row of merchandise, evaluating some of the recent stock of books and debating on if any of the subjects peaked my interest. Standing there for only a brief moment before someone collides into me from behind, though I was the only one that had tumbled onto the floor, my glasses falling to skid across the floor and what I suspect to be out of my reach. A nuisance, yes, though I purposefully do not enchant my glasses. I suppose it reminds me that I am still human, in a way. But continuing onwards.
A boy had bumped into me, rather hurriedly I estimate, and without lifting a finger to help me from the floor, however he made a polite enough excuse as to why he ran into me. Excuse, anyway. There is hardly a reason to 'zone out' while walking.
The daft compliment of being cuter without my glasses was purely arrogant, as I suspected to be the case. And I disliked it even less so when he pushed at the rim of my glasses in emphasis. I hardly think that someone with perfect vision could contemplate how particular one can be of the subject of one's sight.
I curse my patience sometimes. I only wanted to scowl at him and leave, as if it would put him in his place, though I do know better. It would never accomplish anything to be oversensitive about every little thing. Especially so when he was wanting to get a reaction from me, as I suspected at the time. A childish desire as well, to get a rise from others. Either that or to flirt, which there was very little chance of. As if it mattered.
Again, I curse my patience sometimes…
After I put on my glasses on was the first chance to see this arrogant boy in focus. He appears to be about my age or so, according to my estimations, with physical features of dark hair and blue eyes similar to my own. He is attractive, by anyone's standards, and at that moment it appeared that he knew it well. It was his eyes were what I faltered from, they were bright and cool. And for some unexplainable reason, I was stunned for a fraction of a moment.
*sigh* A rather girlish reaction to being bumped into by an attractive boy, though I never considered myself to be one of the many that would squeal afterwards from the incident. Nor did I mind you. It merely caught me off guard, as would anyone else presented into the same situation.
At least that is my assumption to say the least.
After I stood up on my own accord, I accepted his idle apology. Chances were that he truly did not mean it or did not care, though at least he did not start on the mockery that most do, considering. My first year was days filled of various mockery of my glasses or my last name. There are some that continue to title me Dweedle even now. As if it affects me.
I accepted his apology, I suppose. I saw no evidence that he was genuine with the gesture, so I dismissed it. I only wanted to return to looking through the merchandise of books. However, I returned the polite gesture, introducing myself, and he in turn did the same, though peculiarly with only his last name. Not without making a 'witty' comment about my last name, of course.
Also… he said something strange…
"I've been rejected in much more interesting ways."
What do you suppose that means? I had accepted his apology, introduce myself and accepted his brief company before we would part ways. I had thought and still do think I was polite as needed, so what could he mean by 'reject'?
It still eludes me…
*sigh* However, now it is suppertime and I will continue with the encounter from yesterday after supper. It is doubtful I will discover any answers during then…