|Current mood:|| exhausted|
|Current music:||"At the End of the Day" I relate with those French peasants|
Work, Work, Work
Who the devil crept up and sprung all this work on me? And why didn't anyone remind me that teaching and running a school is too bloody difficult for anyone to handle? RRRG!!
Oi, I swear, I'm beginning to think I either need to drink myself under the table or actually find someone willing to do all of my paperwork...
I don't suppose any of you are mascocists, are you? It pays very well.
Oh, who am I kidding. I'll just quietly go mad, and go down in history as the Headmistress who didn't last until her first year of running the school.
And George, if you can make a quill that can fill out paperwork correctly, I'll bloody well give you a plaque! Because I've quickly learned that in order to survive as headmistress, you must discover a way to dump your busy work on to someone else.
Molly, please drag me out of here! Just come by one day and kidnap me; I'm sure it'll do me good.
-one hour later
Stupid bloody...Sibyll just dropped by with several concerns about the upcoming year; Albus told me she predicts dire fates for all of us at the beginning of each year, but I didn't realize how much was going to go wrong. I'm set to die three times (once by flu, once by bad blood pudding [I don't even like blood pudding], and once by accidental fall from twelveth storey window), and after all that, I'm due for a near-death experience involving a Chimaera.
I should fire that woman and re-hire her as a creative writing teacher.
Oh, look at the time. I've got seventy things to get done today (seventy-two, now that some unpleasant chores have been brought to my attention. Bleh!), and I have to get to work.