Swirling into Oblivion - the Tale of an Insomnia

Swirling into oblivion - the tale of an insomnia

What's wrong with this scene?

It's past one o'clock in the morning and I'm drinking tea in the kitchen. A sordid excuse for a kitchen, more like. In fact, this is a sordid excuse for a house. Tossing and turning in my bed for over an hour, I decided to go down and have a cup of tea.

For everything down here in Britain seems to be done over a cup of tea. Everything: Order Meetings - though I don't attend - afternoon snacks, talks with adults, homework, whatever. Everything. Indeed adults seem to love tea, it's an unhealthy obsession. Don't know why though. I can just picture Mrs. Weasley with her purple apron: "Have a cup of tea, dear," she says, "everything'll be all right." Or Lupin, sipping his tea silently, alternatively either nose deep in a book, or staring into space, imperturbable. Tonks, even! Well - when she's not breaking the tea pot. All of them. Dumbledore, McGonnagal, Snape. All...

Ironically enough, tea is the only thing that tastes good in the bloody house! No matter how good Mrs. Weasley's (whom insists I call her Molly) cooking may be, the dishes all seem to taste faintly dusty or slightly stale. And try actually wanting to eat when voracious sixteen to eighteen-year-old Weasleys literally launch themselves at meat... Enough to make you quit food altogether for dozen lifetimes.

So then, here I am, sipping my solitary tea watching the clock ticking with unbearable slowness.

I wish it were morning. Not because there's anything specific I particularly want to get done, but simply to give me something to do. Perhaps I could go to the shops? I could make an excuse... phoning my parents? That could do it. Oh, what I wouldn't give just for a walk in the park... Anything-- looking out into the garden, lying in the grass watching the clouds stir away in the light July breeze... A good Agatha Christie novel, a telly... I would it give it all away - witchcraft, magic, friends, knowledge -to cease, for just one second, to be Hermione Jane Granger. Yes, ignorance is bliss, have I come to learn.

This house is full of people and yet never in my life have I felt so alone, so deserted. I am surrounded with friends, family almost, and I feel hollow, fragile, isolated. I no longer sleep. I should be out there. I should be out with friends, dating, getting drunk, whatever normal teens do...

And yet I drink tea, alone, night after night. But, say, do I drink tea because I'm lonely, or I am lonely because I drink tea? That is the question.

I sit in this withering room, its depressing, harsh, yellowish halo flickering above me. Magic and Muggle-ness definitely don't mix well - Mr. Weasley does not grasp very well the concept of 'Elektrikcity' and thus the light bulb floats in mid air, continuously flickering. On. Off. And again. On. Off. I swallow my saliva with difficulty; I feel terrible. I am this kitchen. I am this house, slowly decaying, the pieces of my soul wearing with every flicker. And the hollowness, the vacant eyes and the absent smiles...

I stir my tea: it's cold. Wizards can invent whatever alternative to Muggle technology, fly brooms, levitate objects, 'transfigure', gaze into the future - or pretend to - but how is it that there isn't one way of keeping your tea warm?

No, instead it just keeps swirling, and swirling into oblivion.