Started off as about Harry Potter
18.11.05, 6:29 pm

Had a bit of an intense past 24 hours, which I shall now share with the world because it's better than working on my website on the thyroid gland.

I had Mel in my room for most of last night, because once again Iain was a total dickhead and made her really upset. I ended up getting all deep and intense on her, which I don't normally do with people because making a joke is always so much easier, and told her that I think she has so much going for her, and that she deserves someone better than Iain. That she doesn't need to have a bloke to make her happy, that she'll be okay on her own. Mel's very dependent on people to make her feel good about herself - she's got very little self-confidence; and she knows that Iain isn't really everything she wants, but she worries that she'll never find anyone else. I wish I could just make her see how fantastic she really is.

Anyway, I went to see Harry Potter this morning with Dave, Mel and Becky. I thought the film was really, really good, with one of its only flaws being that the editing was quite choppy, in terms of scene changes. The best scene had to be when Harry appeared back outside the maze with Cedric's body.

The music swelled in the background, and his dad was all hysterical and grieving, and it struck a chord with me. I guess it'd strike a chord with anyone, but for me it went so much as to hurt. The scene seemed to summarize the feeling that I've felt so often, and it reminded me of how much I still miss my mum and Bernie, and how death just kills you.

I don't really have the words for this. It kills you though... it drags something away from you that you really don't want to let go of. And everything's suddenly different, and hard, and you hate the change but you have to adapt to it, because what you gonna do? Seriously, what you gonna do about it? I still feel thirteen when I have the thought of "It's not fair." No, it's not fair, but life doesn't care about fair. Sometimes I forget just how much it all still hurts, until something reminds me, like the film today. And when it does I want to stand up and scream, "That's what it feels like! That's how I feel when I remember stuff, when I think about it! And do you know just how many times I remember things? Make it better. Please, someone make it better, just take it all away. I don't want to play this game anymore."

I didn't mean to write so much about this, and I don't think I've done a great job anyway, but it seems to be what's in my head. I was going to go on and write about some trivial housekid angst, but I might leave it until tomorrow. I've gotten a bit upset writing this, so I probably need a cup of tea and a pull-myself-together moment.

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