Or Desperate To Be Surrounded

I hate this exercise. Prof. Mcgonagal requested a poem...but I can't write. Maybe if I ramble...

I'm fizzy, I'm dizzy,
and I'm alone?

I hate writing poetry. Nothing ever rhymes in my mind...its frustrating really, I desperately want to be one of those amazingly deep people. Everyone knows about their sort. They're the one's that win essay contests and the ones teachers are always nodding at like they're the Dalai Lama. Truthfully, I don't think they're all that smart, they just like to use the word ironic a lot...then again, according to Professor Snape I'm not really the brightest kid, so what would I know?

Parvati thinks I'm crazy for thinking things like this. To say the absolute truth, Parvati thinks everything but purple nail polish is crazy. I think that's really why she is my best friend. My name is purple and so are my nails. I wish all of me were purple. Purple is the color of royalty.

I'm anything but royalty in Gryffindor. I know what they all think of me...it's really no secret that I'm the 'Gossip' or the 'Bimbo'. Just this evening someone called me a blonde and told me that I 'chatter more than a chimp'. It hurt. No girl my age likes to be in any way referred to as a monkey.

Parvati told me to just ignore them...that they were just jealous and that they weren't worth it. She was lying. It was Samantha Kelsey, a beautiful fifth year who most definitely is worth it. Most girls would kill for her attention. I hate it when people say things that are so obviously not true, in a somehow deranged way to try to make you feel better.

I think the real reason why this snide little insult hurt so much, was because Seamus Finnegan was watching. Even though Parvati thinks Seamus is just an over-grown clover, with as much personality as a cardboard box, I want him to like me. I want him to respect me. My view of the whole thing is that, if he was a clover, he would be most definitely a four leafed one...that is, one in a million. He's positively delicious, with his cornflower eyes and straw yellow hair. He reminds me of the heroic Wesley, in my favorite child-hood fairy tale, The Princess Bride. If someone asked me now what my fantasies involve, I would have to reply, "Seamus Finnegan yelling 'As you wish!' at me, while I sit and swoon."

I wish I had eyes like Seamus'. Mine are a boring blue-ish color. Nothing so radiant as his laser-beams or as romantic as Harry Potter's green gems. The only time my eyes are ever interesting is when I cry. I'm always quite happy about this, until I realize that sadness had caused the transition. It's all a bit ironic really. I wonder if I could incorporate that into my poem.

My eyes are green- happy!
Ironic? Crying made them change.

There. Teachers would have to think I'm the slightest bit intelligent; after all, I did use the word ironic.

Surrounded?
Or isolated, one can never tell.

Have you ever noticed that the time you feel the most alone, is when you're in the midst of a crowd? Another ironic statement. To tell the truth, I think that pretty much everything in the English dictionary is ironic- no wonder those smart kids never run out of intelligent things to say. Anyway, I'm drifting off course. What I meant to be thinking about is the story of how Parvati, and me spent one glorious day with the popular kids.

Samantha Kelsey had wanted to know how Parvati managed to braid her hair in those teeny, weeny little plaits. Parvati had told her that she would do it for her, but that it might take some time. Samantha had agreed, and so for all that day, Parvati had devoted her time completely to weaving Samantha's impossibly soft hair into impossibly small sections.

But what a day it was. We had been allowed to sit with them at lunch, and even play a hand of exploding snap in the common room. Samantha even let us paint her nails and give her a pedicure. The day was almost perfect...the only thing was that in the midst of my dream, I suddenly woke up--and realized that I was all alone.

It was a strange feeling, almost as if the world had become a kaleidoscope, packed with confusing colors and strangely distorted images...nothing seemed real.

Parvati doesn't seem to have the same problems. Everyone likes Parvati. She even went with Harry to the Yule Ball last year...I was so envious. Scrap that, the entire school was envious. Its not that I like Harry all that much. To tell the truth, he's always seemed a bit distant, to me, like he's watching the rest of us live our pathetic lives while he sits in luxury on his pedestal. I wish I had that same aloofness...the same mystery.

I'm fizzy, I'm dizzy,
and I'm alone.

But I'm not mysterious. I'm Lavender Brown. The boring girl next door who everyone thinks they know...but they don't.

Confess deeply to one...told so they could pass it on.
Ironic?

I confided in Parvati the other day. I told her about Seamus and his beautiful eyes. I told her how I felt. The funny thing is that I didn't tell her because I wanted her opinion. I didn't tell her because she was my best friend. I told her for two very selfish reasons. Firstly, I wanted Samantha Kelsey to find out. It might seem strange that I long for her good approval, but I do want it. I want it badly. All my life I've wanted to fit in...but I'm boring. Liking someone makes you interesting. Gives you a story to tell, an event to gossip over. I also wanted Seamus to find out. The first step to having a chance is to insure that your victim is well informed. And the first step to publicizing a secret? Indulge it to Parvati.

Solitude?

Or desperate to be surrounded.

Sometimes I find myself walking down a hallway, and I kid myself...pretend that I like being alone. I sometimes hope that the people walking past will think that I have an interesting secret or a dream unrealized. But then I realize I'm only walking alone so that someone might walk up to me and give me some attention. It's interesting that people give you more attention when you're upset. People always say that people like you when you are happy, and nobody cares when you're sad. What happens when people don't care about your happiness? What happens then?

I'm fizzy, I'm dizzy,
and I'm alone.

Excited because of you!
Ironic? I want the reputation.

Do I want to be known as a chatterbox? A skank? A loser? Do I want to be known as intelligent? Approachable? Or simply as 'that cool girl'. What do I want?

Attention?

Does it matter where it comes from?

Maybe I should stop analyzing myself. Maybe I should just be me.

I'm Fizzy, is this dizzy?
Am I alone?

But who am I?