Dear Journal,
Today I got this book with blank pages to write down all the things that happen to me, so I don't forget. Plus, my Uncle Edgar had said a while ago that my handwriting was terrible. I've fixed mine a decent bit since then, but his hasn't improved. Hypocrite.
Anyway, it's just the usual work for me; more cleaning, hunting, errands. I don't know much about magic, but my Uncle knows a fair lot about it. He does his weird magical things when he thinks I'm not watching. What a weirdo. But, I guess since he gives me a house to live in and food to eat, it's not all that bad.
So, even though I've wanted to be in the millitary ever since I was a little kid, my Uncle insists, always with a scowl and his funny accent, 'No! You vouldn't last a minute in zat millitarrry! Toughen up a bit, vill you?' I want a dragon. I want to ride a dragon and become a hero in the best fighting force around! But of course I can't. I wish he would just let me do what I want to do instead of making me a shut-in. He won't even let me get in a relationship! He says that my hair is too messy anyway, and I don't have the looks to get a girl so it doesn't matter. Jerk. Well, he's calling me now, and telling me to stop my writing and get on with my chores. And he just called this a diary again. It's not a Diary!
