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Remus J. Lupin

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(no subject) [Jan. 1st, 2005|04:28 am]
Remus J. Lupin
As I write this, it is the middle of the night, or the early morning as you prefer, on the first day of 1980.

Quite a strange thought, really: the changing of a decade ought not carry much weight, I daresay, time being a constructed concept as it is.  It means nothing, and says nothing, save that it has been 1,980 years since the arbitrary beginning point of... not even recorded history, but simply a particular time which was, I believe, oriented on the date of a particular birth.  I admit to begin a bit unclear on that, having very little experience with religion.  None of this makes sense, I realise, but it is time for thinking, and so I shall do.

This past year, you see, has been a remarkable experience.  There have been these journals, of course, and all whom I have met through them.  There have been gains and losses, and the waging of a war just outside of our proverbial doors.  Upon, one might say, our proverbial doorsteps.  One of the three people closest to me has gone off, and I have not seen him very much since then; this troubles me, of course, but I cannot imagine how it must trouble Sirius, who is and was closest to him.  Another has been swallowed by the workforce, one might say.  And the last.  Well, he remains, and that is the most important thing, really.  There has been happiness, and pain.  And in this way, I suppose it is no different than any other year - each year brings with it its own, individual ups and downs.  We part with friends, and make new ones.  We lose lovers, and start anew.  I've switched jobs, I must say, an embarrassing number of times... which is why I am going back come Monday, though I am still a bit weak.

This past afternoon, I thought back as I often do.  I suppose that is evident by looking at these pages.  I thought of my years at Hogwarts, fascinating times that they were, filled with discoveries and hopes.  The melodrama of youth paints everything in exaggerated colours: the reds of passion and greens of serenity, the blues of sadness and yearning and loneliness, and loss.  When one is sixteen, or seventeen (and I speak as one just past that age, myself) it is so easy to slip from one into another.  I suppose it is the same now, and I am simply too close to it to tell.  But I do believe that time changes all of us, and each year brings new lessons, good or bad.

This past year, I have learned to open a bit.  I suppose that has been the greatest, and most rewarding of 1979's lessons.

In this coming year, I will need to continue that trend.
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(no subject) [Dec. 25th, 2004|02:28 am]
Remus J. Lupin
Happy Christmas to all.

(And thank you for all you've done.)
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(no subject) [Dec. 16th, 2004|07:26 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
This week has been an interesting series of fascinating days, and intoxicating times.  I cannot say enough about it which means I shan't try.  But I will say that I quite enjoyed Monday, most of all, and this evening thus far. Unfortunately, there is entirely too much to do, now, and too little time in which to do it.  When it is over, all will improve again, I'm certain.

And now I am rambling quite pointlessly.  I suppose it must be something in the air.

Tis the season to be jolly.
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(no subject) [Dec. 9th, 2004|05:17 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
The time for festivities has arrived, it seems, and there is much happening of late.  For example, two days ago, holiday decorations were purchased, and while it's been quite the struggle getting everything into its proper place (primarily due to distractions, and the cat) I am satisfied now to say that this flat is quite red and quite golden and quite green.  But primarily red and gold, as Sirius has troubles with green.

There remains, however, much to be done: there are gifts to purchase, for example, cards to fill, and I do need to redecorate the bottom half of the tree, since Augustus has a vendetta of sorts against tinsel and green things which smell of pine.  Perhaps that is natural, for cats.  Well, there is more than that, as well, but it seems a bit silly to discuss at length.

It is very nearly 1980, which occurred to me this past evening, as I travelled home from the library.  A decade is coming to a close, and in a most spectacular manner.  The end of a year is always a time of reflection, at least for me - I am given to thinking back upon the months before, and what I had done poorly, or well.  I suppose everyone has regrets, some more so than others.  There are 22 days left in which to ponder upon them, and then I shall attempt to make my peace with them.  A new year is a new start, is it not?

Well, perhaps not.  But we can do our best to make it into one.

Lily, I do hope you are feeling better.  I'm sorry I did not ask after you before, but I had been distracted by Christmas related things, and hadn't thought to check these books until now.  I will also extend my sympathies to Mr LeStrange for his loss, though I suspect he does not care that I do.  Well, it seems polite.

My quill, it runneth over.
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(no subject) [Dec. 2nd, 2004|09:01 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
I haven't any idea where Sirius has gone off to this evening (all right, that is an exaggeration: I've some idea, but very little.)  However, it has left the flat empty, and me with little to do.

As a result, I have reached the conclusion that, while the cat is rather an amusing companion, he is not without his flaws.  For example, he is unable to speak.  Quite limiting.  Additionally, he has the unhappy habit of leaving fur wherever he happens to go, including all over my jumper.

It seems my writing has grown short of late.  This is clearly an indication that very little has happened.
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(no subject) [Nov. 22nd, 2004|04:48 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
In regards to Sirius... personally, I think he rather enjoys the Beatles.  Whether this enjoyment results from reasonable or unreasonable... ah, reasoning is another story entirely.

(And yes, I am quite aware that this makes very little sense.  Such is the nature of things.)
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(no subject) [Nov. 5th, 2004|11:25 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
Life can be quite tiring, really.  Consider: previously I had been quite prolific in writing here, and even more dedicated to the reading of the same, yet then, of course, I began working... again, which seems to have taken a bit of the edge from my ever-present desire to write.  It's a bit tiring, perhaps, as I spend such a great deal of time with words, and books.  I adore them, however upon returning home, there generally seems only two reasonable options:  I might read, or avoid books altogether.  There is a measure of exhaustion involved, I think.

Which is why I have taken the past two days off to wander with Sirius.  We took his motorbike to... somewhere; I've honestly no real idea of where, as I didn't care to look.  There are trees in the distance, visible through the window of our room, nestled between more trees, and the sky is a dusty blue-grey like something from a dream.  It is magnificent.  It is good.  At times I forget myself, in London, with its endless streets and infinite people; in the end, I suppose, I remain a child of Caldbeck.

And so, it has been... energising, these past two days, and I expect this weekend to be more so.  In the quiet of my reflection, I have come to realise that I miss these pages, and the people within them (with obvious exceptions, whom I shall not name for the sake of politeness.)  People are fascinating, after all: they are never-ending springs of intrigue. 

I suppose that, in London, surrounded by them as I am, sometimes I (paradoxically) come to forget how very fond of them I am.
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(no subject) [Oct. 15th, 2004|08:01 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
Muggle libraries are quite fascinating, filled as they are with books upon books: novels and poetry and short stories and encyclopaedias and so on and so forth till the end of our days.  I do not believe I could read every book in that one building, even if I read an entire volume every day for the remainder of my years.  Primarily, my responsibility consists of shelving.  I do a good deal of that; really it is all I ever do, though from time to time I also assist with the card catalogue.

The building is, of course, absolutely filled with muggles, which means I have worn muggle trousers and muggle shirts and muggle shoes, on which the laces consistently choose to untie themselves.  I must say there is a form of magic that is entirely theirs, in the way they unravel and unwind. 

Throughout the week I have been taking careful note of any interesting books I have stumbled across during my shelving adventure; there is a page of notebook paper in my wallet, alongside my photograph (which I cannot look at while I am near the muggles, as its moving would be quite difficult to explain,) which holds this list.  I suspect a number of the books are classics I have not heard of previously.  Fascinating.  The others, I believe, are of the more modern sort, and consists of names I have never heard of as well, but names with a distinctly modern flavour.  Interesting, isn't it, how one might estimate the era from which an author originates based entirely on their name?  This does not work as well with wizard authors, I dare say.

All of which is quite fascinating, but the more disturbing bit of the day is thus:  upon returning home, and wasting a bit of time, and then venturing to the corner shop for juice, I stumbled upon an odd woman who insisted that I have a tan.  Clearly she had failing eyesight, because I have rarely seen a paler bloke than I.  I am, in fact, unusually pale at all times, and more so on occasion, though I suppose it is difficult to tell with the photographs used here.  Strange bird, that was, and without any relevance, but I thought perhaps I ought to mention it based entirely on the bizarreness of the matter.
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(no subject) [Oct. 8th, 2004|11:41 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
Looking over the past several pages of this book, I have come to the rather disturbing realisation that I overuse the letter "i," particularly when used at the beginning of a new entry.  Generally this comes in the form of "I did so and so" or "I think so and so," but occasionally the letter has, with clear and obvious ill intent, invaded more subtly than even that.  Sentences begin, when I have avoided using self-references, with words such as "if" and "it."  Most chilling.  Clearly this letter has both motive and ability to take over my entire journal.  Eventually, there will be naught here, save "i"s.  Many of them.  Or perhaps every sentence shall begin with an I.

I might find that quite disturbing, were I to do such a thing, particularly without intent.  Intent, after all, is the most significant thing in whether or not something can be labelled disturbing.  Important as it is, however, there are other things to be taken into consideration as well.  Ill-motivation, for one.  Invasion is another; perhaps the letter has decided to quietly conquer all of language.  I would hate to see that happen!  It would be quite distressing.

In other news, I am to begin work this Monday in a muggle library.  Predictably, Sirius is unhappy.  Predictably, I am as well, but there is nothing for it.

And please note the nefarious "i" engaging in the aforementioned subtler warfare in the paragraph above.  Quite unnerving.
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(no subject) [Oct. 3rd, 2004|09:46 pm]
Remus J. Lupin
I have not been lectured since I finished with school, until, of course, this afternoon.  An interesting, and somewhat nostalgic, experience.  I'm not certain I can say I enjoyed it, however. 

I ought to say more, but I've organisation to attend to.  Quite the formidable challenge.
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