Trisha Patricks
Squib
Can't we work it out? Can't we be a family? I promise I'll be better.
Posts: 100
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Post by Trisha Patricks on Dec 6, 2007 21:49:47 GMT
I sigh rather loudly to myself as I scrub at a particularly stubborn spot of dirt on the table in front of me, then look up and around the mostly empty room, shaking hair out of my eyes. Quiet night. And I look back down at the table I’ve been scrubbing, suddenly loathing it with a passion. I loathe the whole room, in fact… or at least, I am desperately tired of it. For the first time in a year, I want change. Something other than my comfortably safe, low-key, insignificant routine. When I first took this job I was terrified of everyone around me, with their stranger-ness and unfamiliarity. Now they make me sick with their sameness, even though they change constantly. A steady stream of new and interesting, unexpected people pours through here – and I am sick to death of all of them. I am going to venture out of Diagon Alley, I vow to myself, staring down at the table without really seeing it. I don’t know where I’m going to go, but it will be somewhere… different. Somewhere new. “I’m going somewhere new,” I murmur quietly, and smile very slightly as I go back to scrubbing the table.
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