I have moved.

From now on I keep my Very private and Secret Diary at

http://professorsarcasm.blogspot.com/

 

And of course, you should not read that one over there either.

 

I just came here to inform all you countless readers of this blog that here I am, sitting at the party table, stuffing disgustingly sweet cake with heavy cream topping into my not so enthusiastic mouth, swinging my head (with a Birthday Cone Hat made of colourfully decorated paper) happily while listening my dear friends sing me "Happy Birthday to you", eager to get my hold on the promising pile of presents...

You didn't believe one word of it, did you?

Well then. These jubilees just seem to rush over me like never ending express train. Halloween, Thanks Giving, Christmas, New Year, Epiphany, Birthday... The worst is still to be expected though. It's the 14th of February. So compared to it, this might turn out to be almost like anyday. I'm ever so wishfull that it remains that way until the day is over.

The new year, bright, shiny and pure, holding possibilities and promises of new beginnings... for those dumb enough to believe it's mendaciously luring voice. So, nothing new for me there, is it? I'm more likely to wade my way through the same old, same old... Shouldn't be so confusing, so what's that stinging pain in my chest then? Sorry, I've no intentions to whine. It's just that new years should be illegitimate for those of us who has nothing to wait, nothing to hope for. Whining again, am I?

Darn.

Happy new year to all of you, dumb ones. I know enough of man's nature not to wish all your dreams to come true. But maybe one of them. One tiny little fantasy that you didn't think was really important. May that be fulfilled and bring slender rays of happines to your ordinary life. That's all. It should be enough.

I have been utterly occupied over a month now. I will not bore you with details of my tiresome tasks. I only mentioned it because someones here were bending to hilarious but incorrect assumptions about me being dead once again. As if that could be possible.

You want to hear about my Christmas? It was dark and gloomy and so it totally met my expectations. I received one gift though, as an exception to the rule. And it was quite succesful gift too (another exception to the rule). A nice bottle of good red wine and a movie with lots of blood and revenging for sake of long lost love. That should be fun enough.

Oh my J.K. Rowling (we were never allowed to say that in the books, though I always considered it to be a much better wizardish substitution to "Oh my God!" than "Holy Merlin!" and it's all more or less pitiful variations), who did I find in my comments box if not Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived... to be a constant pain in my certain body part. You actually had the nerve to come here and claim your right to know the truth about me and your late mother. Such an impudent, inconsiderate boy, in other words Gryffindor, you are. *sigh*

But you have managed to polish your expression, and your manners too seem to be perfected a little since your childhood days. And what comes to your sons name (Albus Severus Potter) it has a certain clang to it. How did they say it sounded... oh yes, like a slash threesome, indeed. Anyway, the gesture is appreciated, not merely ridiculed.

As I'm not sure how familiar you are with your mothers past, and therefore mine too, I have to start from the beginning. But don't even think I'm going to give you any details! You asked what there was between me and Lily Evans, so here it comes.

We happened to live quite near each others as a child. We met accidentally, found we had certain things in common and we enjoyed our time spent together. Naturally we grew up to be very good friends. We were more than happy to realise we could both attend the School of Hogwarts, but little did we know what importance our ill-fated sorting to different houses had to our destinies ahead. We still managed to maintain our precious friendship while at school, though it came harder year by year. Not least because of your father and his associates. Everybody loved Lily. She was amazing, in every aspect. We had many severities on our way, but we could surpass all of them. Until one day... something very unfortunate happened, and we could no longer carry on as we had used to. So, James Potter managed to soften her heart, I gave my allegiance elsewhere while searching constancy and reverence from another direction and the rest is history know to all.

You know I loved her. I loved her more than anything. And when I misconceively thought I had lost her, I thought I had lost everything. Nothing mattered anymore. I was such a fool... such an insecure and overly emotional fool. So, I deserved every second of my miserable and lonely life, cause I knew it was all my fault. But... no need to dwell in that anymore.

So, from past to present. As I managed to deceive death and freed myself from its mortal grip, I accidentally learnt more about alternative universes. I learnt that there are myriads of alternative life paths, both in the past and in the future, that are just waiting to be explored by an investigator aptitude enough. Ever since I have been privileged enough to be in contact with my alternative younger self and Lily, as I once knew her. She's not your mother though, as she has chosen a different lifepath, that is remarkable divergent from the one known to so many. I know this is not an easy thing to understand, but you may as well keep her as an old man's delusion. Because that's what she is to you.

The Pensieve

Some other memories

And some more

Oh, what a weekend I had. Not the kind I actually hoped for, but at least I'm still alive. That's good. I suppose. It was like some grander than life Bat Bogey Hex had hit me straight from nowhere. Brought me some not-so-happy memories from my youth... but in those times it tended to come from the wand of Sirius Black.

I'm pleased to see there has been so many visitors during my absence. But I'm not very happy about the way some of you turn against each others. I'm not going to comment that here any further, I just have to rely on your maturity and decency. Exept when it comes to Weasley's... I can't admit I was a great admirer of your pranks while at school, and I guess there just are some things that never change.

Harry Potter... I honestly did never expect to see you here. I will go into your question later, when I have totally recovered (my head is still aching), since it's a matter of a very delicate issue.

Yes, you read it right, in bed with fever, not feverish in bed. Though I'd like that more, I can tell. It might be better to stop right here, since my present state of  well-being, which is not very well at the moment, seems to lower my indigenously high morals and lead my train of thought to a very dubious realms. Oh my.

So, the little Halloween journey to my dear old granny wasn't as harmless as I thought it would be. Yes, it saved me from those creepy vamps (and I'm not referring to vampires with that) that assault me every now and then in the most undesirable ways, but instead I got to suffer from damp bedsheets, merciless chill and that gruesome Scottish weather. I may have deceived those fan-girls, but couldn't swindel the good old autumn gale.

Damn it. I'm not going to bore you with the details of my morbid condition. I'll just say that this darn brightness makes me want to dig my aching eyes of my head. I tried to brew something to ease this pain that keeps hammering my forehead, but I guess nothing, exept time, really cures the infernal common cold. I can almost see that demon of influenza wagging me the banner that says "REST, you stupid idiot!"

I know I have been working too much. And that's the commendation I get for all that labour.

As always.

Have a nice weekend. I have a plan how to spend mine: 1) Stay alive. 2) Get well.

I hope that's not too much to ask.

I'm leaving to countryside for a few days. I hate festivities, and I think it's more entertaining to sit in front of fire, reading a good book and enjoying my port wine, than stay at home trying not to curse those poorly dressed vampires, zombies, wizards (!) and fairies from hell. No, I don't wan't any trick or treat. And no, you'll get no candy, nor detention.

I have to tell you, even though it makes me feel ashamed, which is kind of weird, since I've done nothing wrong here. Not in a long time, that is. Yes... I can almost handle those horror creatures popping on my door with their greedy eyes and vast bags. They are not the worst part of this Halloween time. It's those horrid, blood stopping cutie girls, all dressed up like naughty school girls in their skirt too short and eyelashes too voluminous. And ponytails on both sides of their heads. Always ponytails.

They come to my door, lashing untiringly their eyelashes so that I almost catch cold because of the draught they make. They smile unscrupulously allouring way (not affecting me in any way, I can tell) and use that funny little childish nasal voice while talking to me. And what do they want? I have to admit, that quite a long time it was a total mystery to me. But now I know.

Do they want candy? Hell no, they want detention. DETENTION, with ME. For Merlins pants, that makes me sick.

So, I'm going to meet my grandmother, like every year for a quite many years now.

I wish you all the gloomiest and darkest, horrid and scary All Hallows Eve. May there be lots of killer bunnies on your way, but I couldn't dare to hope any seductive wannabe Anime School Girls appearing to you door. Not even to you, Potter, though you might like them. Who knows.

As long as I am here, locked up in my own misery, I might do as well as to try to humour you with a poem I made years ago.

Your Words

If I'd allow them enter,
unlikely as it is,
would them be able
to wipe away
these ever changing shades
of agony and dreariness?

If I'd ever let them in,
through my gloomy entrance,
would I be not
too curious to see them
turn ashes from my touch.

And if I'd ever let you hear
even the hint of my dark reveal,
wouldn't it be gross,
not only unworthy of your time,
but an offence against your ears.

If I'd ever let your near,
you'd probably pour soft words on me
quietly as the sun speaks
amid the shady basswoods
to deeply depressed seeds,
blinded by the dark soil's ceaseless retreat.


There was some speculations about me having any literary giftedness. Well, now it's proven. No, not any at all.

I turn my back for a minute. Or maybe it was a day, or so, and what do I find when I come back? Nice "Welcome back"- card with a lovely cup of tea beside it and and a fresh bouquet of flowers on top of it all? Yes?

No.

I find an absurd parade with some phony posers and some ablazed agitators and my precious one in the middle of all this havoc, and I'm totally out of reach to help her. Not that she needs any help, as you all can see. She's quite capable of taking care of herself. And some others too, at the same time.

Anyway. This is not a First Year Potions Class. Behave. Or else I may just have to use some of my specialities... You don't want to see that.