Post by Cole Harington on Sept 9, 2012 12:22:07 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] cole nathaniel harington. eighteen. business employee. harry styles. | |
[rs=2] | Alright, here goes nothing – well actually, there's a lot going, because I'm putting in quite a bit of valuable effort to recite my life story to you, but I suppose that doesn't really matter now that I've made up my mind and started already. In fact, I'm just wasting time by discussing how much time I'm wasting in the first place, aren't I? That happens sometimes. Overthinking is a bitch. Okay, anyways – my name is Cole, which is a boring name, so I dunno what my mother was thinking when she came up with it, but that's what it is. I promise I don't always whine this much, but today's just been a really off day so far. Speaking of my mum, I might as well mention that she’s a very lovely woman – I feel like if I had a chance to start over and make a couple of different decisions (or change my lifestyle a bit and have certain redeemable traits that I apparently don’t have) she’d be a lot less disappointed in me. She hasn’t ever explicitly said that she is, but there’s obvious vibes, you know, signals that you can’t miss, like the way she sighed every time I told her about my marks at school and she got that unmistakable look on her face that screamed, “You could have done so much better.” I agree with her to a certain extent, actually, because there’s always room for improvement and all that, but you have to believe me when I say that I have the motivation and ambition of a – well, of someone that has literally no desire to do better or be better. See, I’m so inadequate that I can’t even think of an appropriate metaphor to describe it. I won't dwell on that for too long, because although I love her, constantly worrying about what she – or anyone else – thinks about me is no way to live properly. My father’s been absent for most of my life, because he and my mum divorced when I was about eight years old. I was pretty intuitive as a kid, not to boast or anything, but even if I hadn’t been it was easy enough to see that they didn’t have the most healthy relationship – the late night fights that I overheard when I was tucked into bed but couldn’t sleep, the days and days on end when my father wouldn’t come home (and when he did, he’d have some half-arsed excuse to offer up), and the cautious whispers the two of them exchanged in the last few months of their marriage whenever I entered the room. Looking back, it was pathetic, really, because they were too caught up in their own disputes to figure out how it’d be best to let me in on how much their marriage wasn't working and what it would mean for me. It's probably a good thing that I was an only child – I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to have to put up with that nonsense like I did. My parents were both halfbloods and had gone to Hogwarts around the same time – dad was a couple of years older than mum, but I don’t really see why that would matter – and it’s too late now for me to inquire about the fine details of how they got together without getting her all riled up, so I can’t really tell you much about that, I’m afraid. I can only remember bits and pieces of my time with my so-called dad, which I guess is your usual father-son relationship in the early years, but frankly, I don’t want anything to do with him at this point. I don’t have a clue where he is or what he’s doing – the formal, “I’m obligated to write these so I don’t look like a totally immature tool” letters stopped coming from him when I was fifteen. Maybe by then my mum had contacted him to tell him that I was a lost cause and it wasn’t worth it for him to keep writing when it wasn’t doing me any good, but still, that shit cuts me deep. Do I resent him because he left my mum? As insensitive as it may make me sound, not really. Do I resent him because he considered my mum and I some sort of package deal and because of that he stopped paying attention to me almost entirely after he left my mum? As self-centered as it may make me sound, yes. My childhood was as uneventful as they come both leading up to that whole fiasco and after it – I mean, I’d always been pretty ordinary and now that period in my life has blended into one joint memory of primary school, playing football with the other boys my age in our neighborhood, and having the best time that I could with the circumstances I had. I taught myself when I was a younger lad to live in the moment, seize the day, et cetera et cetera, and it really has come in handy – I wouldn’t exactly call it not giving a fuck, but carefree all but explains it. I’m not completely indifferent, though. I care about the people that I know actually matter and I don’t think I'd have it in me to ever hate anyone, but I tend not to worry about things that a lot of people I’ve come across hold far too dear to their hearts – like achieving top marks or securing a decent job or getting the approval of society. Those things are time wasters, as I like to call them, but on the contrary, I can get quite serious – on occasion I’ve gotten referred to as that one weak one in the group that wouldn’t be down with murder if the situation called for it. So I guess I can have an abundance of feelings when I need to. Things turned around slightly when I was eleven and got my Hogwarts letter. It’s strange but I think there was a part of my mum that thought I wouldn’t get one, like there was something wrong with me and the magic that runs through our family tree should have skipped me somehow. I can tell now that she believed back then that it’d be easier for me to be a Squib, because that would just be me continuing on being a disappointment. It’s not like I did terribly in muggle school, but again, I guess I could have done better. I was so much more interested in being a normal boy growing up and feeling like I could take on the entire world – well, as normal as I could have been dealing with the difficulties of being raised by a single parent. But let’s be real, to act like the world has done me some great disservice and I deserve better treatment from people around me just because I grew up, for the most part, without a father, would be more than a little pretentious, so I like to pretend that I was just as normal as the next kid down the block. Everyone has their personal issues, and I’m not going to behave like I’m damaged or something after getting raised the way I did because I think the universe owes me something – big surprise, it doesn’t. My childhood was fine. My life is fine. Tomorrow I’ll go to work and it’ll be just another day and that’ll be fine, too. In fact, there’s really nothing significant to see here – that’s why I’m not too sure why anyone would be interested in hearing my story. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity or anything when I say that, though, so don’t mistake my apathy for a pathetic teenager who’s not quite ready to be an adult. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Merlin, I keep getting sidetracked. What was I going on about? Right, Hogwarts. So I went to Hogwarts that year, getting dropped off at Platform 9 ¾ by none other than my mum, who didn't treat me any differently than she had for the past several years combined when saying goodbye. She loves me, I know she does, but she has her own way of showing it, not like the overly touchy-feely or weepy mothers that I stumbled upon at King's Cross that had to be pried away from their sons and daughters by some other relative. I suppose that's an exaggeration – there must have been some kids like me who didn't have the most openly affectionate parents, but I wasn't really looking out for that type of thing. I don't blame my mum for the way she regarded me in those days (and probably still does, if we're being honest), because if I were her, I wouldn't be too impressed with me either. My hair is always out of control – I gave up on taming the curls ages ago and decided it was easier to just let them do whatever they want (yes, they have a life of their own, shut the fuck up) and my clothes are usually on the wrinkled side. Aside from her disapproval of my appearance, I know she wanted more than just an unruly, “I don't really care about my future” son, if that makes sense? If I knew more about my father, I'd be able to make the assumption that maybe my mum's not the biggest fan of me because I'm turning into him or something stupid like that, but I won't go that far because that wouldn't be fair at all. My mum can judge me all she wants but she'll always be my mum. I dunno what that says about me, but whatever. I was sorted into Gryffindor immediately when the Sorting Hat was placed on my head, which was rather discouraging because I was told by my mum over letters that my father had also gotten sorted into the same house without any hesitation back in his day. I didn't have very many goals at that point in time, but I could sign a one hundred percent money back guarantee that my biggest goal then was to not be anything at all like my father – even though my parents' separation had been mutual, it was obvious that it had been more his fault than my mum's, and that's not the kind of guy I wanted to be like in a million years. Those insecurities about my house vanished really quickly, however, because being in Gryffindor led to meeting my best friend, Samuel Stanley. (If he knew that I'd just referred to him as Samuel, he'd probably kill me.) I don't say “current best friend” even though we are currently mates because as cliché as it sounds, there's nothing that could tear the two of us apart and force me to find a new best friend. No one could ever replace Sam. Sure, I want to strangle him sometimes – or most of the time – but he's a keeper. I won't bore you with how we met and stuff because a) it's embarrassing to admit that I don't remember the exact circumstances when we first talked and b) I'd probably get all nostalgic and sentimental and you don't want me feeling that way, man, you really don't. It usually just gets me drinking more than usual, and if I tell anyone why they laugh at me because how do you explain to someone that you're feeling sad for no particular reason, longing for something you can't even put a name to? Anyhow, I'll stop before I start sounding too philosophical and up my own arse because I'd just make a fool of myself if I continued, plain and simple. All you need to know is that by the time Christmas holidays came around in first year, we'd already become good mates – not that we weren't friendly with the other boys in our dorm, because it was quite easy to get along with them as well, and it's safe to say that I was friends with most of my year all throughout my time at Hogwarts. I wouldn't say I was popular, but I knew how to talk to people and I think I was enjoyable enough to hang out with for people from all social circles, so maybe other people would say that about me? Again, I'm just not going to make any assumptions that make me seem like the best ever, because they're likely not true. I started getting into more trouble around second and third year – nothing too serious, mind you, just the repetitive being late to class or “missed” classes for which I ran out of excuses when fourth year rolled around and would rather just take the detention instead of make the Professor in question cross by feeding them straight up lies that didn't even sound like me. Nonetheless, I did find it cute when teachers thought that even though I'd skipped their lesson on a particular day, that I'd be willing to make up that time in a detention at later date. Hello, there were far better things to be doing, especially when I started noticing girls, but I didn't want to risk more severe punishment or more letters home to my mum than were absolutely necessary, so I tended to suck it up and go to help scrub floors or face related consequences when there was no other option. (I swear, the number of shelves I've been forced to dust without the use of magic could set a record.) The staff at Hogwarts learned quickly enough that it wouldn't be wise to put Sam and I in the same detention room unless they wanted more ruckus on their hands than they'd begun with, so there's that. Professor Hewer did well at getting the two of us out of trouble with other teachers most of the time – he’s a good guy, that Hewer is. A perfectly acceptable role model, even. It was clear that Hawthorne had it out for us, though. I wouldn't blame it as much on his Slytherin bias against rowdy Gryffindors as much as the fact that Sam and I really were incompetent gits in most of our lessons, but History of Magic especially. Add that class to the list of time wasters, because it deserves it without a doubt. I can't tell a complete lie, though – it was excellent on Tuesday mornings for catching up on post-hangover day sleep. See, on Monday mornings I'd usually lose all will to live when my dorm-mates did everything in their power to try to get me to wake up and face the day – they were unsuccessful most weeks because Jesus, no one taught me that Sunday nights would be ideal for getting back into routine. Therefore I was always under the impression that it would be ace to drink myself into oblivion the last day of the weekend regardless of what was at stake the next day. Oh, and get this – I also ignored the killer hangovers that resulted and just rolled with it, taking Mondays off completely and then feeling some vague sense of stress on Tuesdays which required me to do some extra sleeping in lessons during the day – which meant my weeks didn't really start until Wednesdays. Thursdays were pretty pointless and you couldn't have expected me to pay too much attention on Fridays when I was all caught up in the anticipation of the parties to follow in the later hours. Yes, I'm aware that I'm a walking, talking genius. Like I said, I started noticing girls when I was about thirteen, but not in a “Wow, let me just make a list of every female whose pants I’d like to get into” because at that point I wasn’t even thinking about it like that. I did think about it like that eventually, though maybe I made multiple mental lists rather than written ones, but at first it was just starting to find them attractive and whatnot – I caught on pretty fast that I was a fan of girls who could stand their ground, you know, not just flirt with you because that was the cool thing to do since all the other girls were doing it, but because they genuinely wanted to. To be frank, there were very few girls I encountered that were like that, but when I did they’d always be interesting to chill with. And that was really important to me too, come to think of it – being able to hold a conversation with a girl without it automatically becoming about sexual tension or anything like that. I liked having girls as just friends, and there were a couple that still stand out in my mind because I could go talk to them in a different way than I did with Sam because they’d have far different perspectives, and so that led to getting advice from them about what sort of moves I should make with girls I fancied; the whole deal. Sometimes they attempted to get me to give them a serious answer as to what Sam liked in a girl, but I always told them that he fancied food more than the opposite sex. It was worth it to see the look on their faces, really. I started to date a couple of girls on and off in fourth year, just to wrap my head around why everyone else seemed so interested in the whole dating thing, and I don’t remember those relationships being much more than just casual flings. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and neither were they, so it was pretty light, good for getting snogging experience, and breaking up when we wanted to see other people was never an issue. I lost my virginity at a party in fifth year to an older girl. That always feels weird to say, because I don’t really believe I “lost” anything, considering I don’t feel any sense of loss or disappointment over it at all. I guess if you want to get deep you could say that losing your virginity means losing your innocence or whatever you want to call it, but that’s a bit of a stretch for me because it depends on the person and what you mean by “innocent”... And I’m doing that thing again where I get off track and talk about things that no one else probably thinks about, so I’ll try to remember what I was saying earlier – oh yeah, about the girl I had sex with for the first time. She was nice, and thankfully we stayed friends afterwards. If we hadn’t, I would've been deeply unimpressed and lost all hope in the hype surrounding friends with benefits forever, but luck was on my side that time. The same can’t be said about my luck for the next couple of years in that department, because apparently I made the mistake of not making it clear enough that I was mainly interested in having fun – which, correct me if I’m wrong, usually means sex instead of a relationship with actual feelings involved – and I had a couple of very oversensitive, angry girls on my hands throughout sixth and seventh year claiming that I’d broken their hearts. That came as a total shock to me, because I don’t see myself as heartbreaker or player material – I’ll flirt with a lot of girls whenever I get the opportunity, but last time I checked, that wasn’t the same thing as being a complete manwhore. I sorted it out with all of those girls in the end and made sure to set them up with guys that actually deserved them and sent them off on their merry way. Hopefully I’ll get several wedding invitations in the coming years on account of that. Sam always calls me a girl for being such a matchmaker, but I can’t really be bothered to give a fuck about what he thinks. For the record, I’m not scared of having emotions or being in a serious relationship like some guys are – I just take what I can get and I don’t think I’ve found the right girl yet for that sort of thing. The next couple of years were pretty normal – I was doing all the things everyone else was doing, except not really. I didn’t stress as much as everyone else did over trivial things, including school, and I don’t regret it one bit. That being said, I did get slightly more motivated for studying and handing in completed homework assignments by fifth year, because it was either that or failing all my OWLs, and as much as I didn’t really care if I did, I knew that wasn’t a real option. So yeah, I picked up my pace the tiniest bit and actually got the respect of some of the stricter teachers, who’d always preferred Sam to me, I think, because his essays were actually brilliant and mine came nowhere close to that level – they started giving me less detentions simply because they were glad to see me coming to my lessons every day and participating, though that didn’t stop me from pranking people in the middle of class when the teachers had their backs turned and whatnot. Everyone was making a huge deal about OWLs and even though I’d turned myself around a bit, I still couldn’t bring myself to care as much as everyone else did because it seemed pointless to get all suicidal and sleepless over something that you’re probably going to laugh about in ten years’ time. I did study, but I didn’t push myself too much, and I don’t think that’s anyone else’s problem except mine. I wasn’t trying to prove myself to anyone, and I wasn’t surprised when I scraped by with mostly As, a couple of Es, and failed only History of Magic with a D and Care of Magical Creatures with a P, because I knew my results were fair when considered with the amount of work I’d put into achieving them. Fast forward to seventh year and I basically held the same philosophy for NEWTs, and surprisingly, I did far better on them than I had on OWLs. By then I’d convinced Sam to take exams a little more seriously as well (he’ll never admit that he actually studied in seventh year) so we wouldn’t be homeless for the rest of our lives. And luckily enough, we actually aren’t – homeless, that is – because Sam got a flat in Bristol right after we graduated and asked me to come live with him. Well, it’s Sam, so he didn’t really ask. He basically insisted that I join him and there really wasn’t any way I could say no because I love him a lot (I don’t have any trouble stating that without feeling embarrassed or having to repeatedly identify myself as straight, but apparently there’s guys that do?) and it’s obvious that this is more convenient for both of us because otherwise we’d be living in two separate flats but going over to visit one another nearly every day anyways. Oh, and it’s less expensive, because we split expenses and that way we’ve been able to afford a nicer place than we would have if we were living alone. So this works, and it’s pretty great, I must say. There’s the occasional mess around the place every so often, but it’s not much worse than our dorm at Hogwarts. I got a job at Scrivenshaft’s in Hogsmeade, so I get reminded of some excellent memories of wreaking havoc on our trips there during the school years. To say that it's dull selling quills and parchment would be an understatement, especially when I’m not interested in the stuff in the least because I’m not a writer or creative or anything like that, but it’s a job and it pays alright. I’m quite indebted to the owner for hiring someone who has no credentials other than being able to hold a good conversation, which perhaps translates into pleasing customers? I dunno. I likely won’t be bored for too long – things are going to pick up around Hogsmeade now that the school term has started again and students from Hogwarts will come down on certain weekends. Hopefully there’ll be some decent people to catch up with. Sam’s working a couple of jobs at the moment so I might follow his example and look for work that actually interests me – a photography internship with someone would be brilliant, not going to lie, but I’d lose all my dignity if I applied at the Prophet and got rejected even though I have some personal experience taking photos with this camera my mum got me for my fourteenth birthday. I’ve been using it ever since just for fun, but I need to learn the basics and how to work it professionally before I can even think about doing it for money. So far it’s only been a casual hobby, but I don’t have much to lose if I end up trying it out. Sam's being an ungrateful little twat so I'll have to be off! We’re planning on going out tonight so I was just about to get dressed – been lounging about in just my boxers all day, it’s the comfiest – but I can hear him yelling something unintelligible from the next room over now and he’ll have a fit if I ignore him again. I can make the educated guess that he’s saying he’s hungry, which sucks for him. I really shouldn’t help him out with that because he never does anything for me, but I also don't want his death on my hands – it's a dilemma of the highest order. He's perfectly capable of running to get some edible food by himself if he can't make anything out of what's in the refrigerator (admittedly I forgot to buy more food on my way home from work today, but still), and yet he always makes me do these things for him. He’s the worst. |
hopuardo. 1+ year roleplaying. gmt -5. |
