So.

I wake up. I run a business. I eat. I sleep.

Rinse. Repeat.

Life? I have no life.

I'd write in the journals more often, but Muggles find it weird if a bloke is always writing in a diary-esque book, and I can't tell them there are people writing back to me or they'd think I'm mental. Which, and I'm just guessing, probably isn't good for business.

On the bright side, though, I've yet to have a brawl and spend until the wee hours of the morning casting charms to repair the furniture, the books actually look like they're keeping a record of something, the pub doesn't look like a strong breeze will make it collapse, and I'm also down to about half a pack of fags a day. See, bright side.

I still sort of miss Megan though, which is stupid and slightly pansy-ish. Not like I was in love with her, so why am I so bloody hung up on her?

You know what?

There is absolutely nothing fun about inheriting a place that had a shitty owner, and shitty patrons, and a shitty design, and shitty furniture, and shitty bathrooms and the shittiest of them all? The books. Fucker couldn't keep a good record of any sodding thing and it's all over the damn place and I need to get a new couch for the backroom and if I actually make it out of this fucking place before the bleeding sun rises, it'll be a miracle.

..and I've started smoking again.

Private to Emma Montgomery:
I've thought about it and I'd like to take you up on your offer. Can you start now?

Right. so. As of the funeral and the will - well, whatever it was that passed as one - I now own 85% of the bar. Apparently the other fifteen is to make sure the wife isn't completely without anything - God knows Lou didn't have a secret savings account or anything like that. Which, I don't know what he was expecting 15% to mean for her, as if the pub rakes in that much cash. Not going to stress it though, I've got important things to worry about, like getting the bar ready to open at some point this week.

And this is all very good. I need to be busy because I can't decide whether

Private to Stephen
I can't decide if I understand or if I'm fucking brassed off.

I.
oh fuck
I think...

I think I just inherited the pub.

My availability has been real shit lately. Which probably has a lot to do with the fact that Lou likes to call me in to "give a hand" and then conveniently not be found. Prick. I'm starting to feel a bit like this is my pub, at this point. I certainly do most of the work.

On another note: the best night to be a bartender? St. Patty's Day. Something about that day makes people extra generous.

I had the yellow hearts that came on Friday, and before I knew it, the entire bag was gone. Which is only bad in the way that I wish I had more of them. Banana, surprisingly, is a really good flavour for candy. I mean, really really good. Maybe that's why I want another bag. I can't wait until that shop opens!

And, you know what else? Work has been brilliant! I mean, other than the three fights Saturday night - which turned into a bit of a brawl, with the Muggle police showing up and being forced to close early. Still brilliant, though.

( Private. )

Four days to my birthday, and I'm tempted to do absolutely nothing this year.

Right, so, I need help with something: the names of contagious diseases a Muggle who isn't too smart would believe.

I'm supposed to work tomorrow night, but I'm not taking the chance that this'll wear off.

Thanks for the gift, anonymous person. Though those gingerbread men didn't last very long what with the younger cousins at my parents' house.

Which reminds me, that's where I've been for the past few days. I think I'm going to stay a bit longer - it's been a while since I've seen my family. It's also a good way to avoid people.

( Private )

Private to Stephen
How does early Christmas shopping sound to you?