I don't know what to say... You know, this is why I write fiction. It's so much easier than finding interesting things to say about myself.
Because, actually, I'm not that interesting. I read everything. And I mean everything. And then I write things.
Ask one of my friends what I'm like, and they'll tell you I'm a walking encyclopedia. And yes, I do know that. Because they say it to me. I would like to be an interesting person. But I'm not.
But don't let that put you off reading my stuff (if I ever do anything good enough to put on). It's more interesting than me. (although mostly I'm on here to read stories by the multitude of much more talented paople around!)
Summary: What to do about your best friend's strange phobias? Remus, Sirius and Peter's method was perhaps not the best, but it had some rather pleasant side-effects...
Summary: Myrtle half wanted to die. Death would be an escape from all her problems. At least, that's what she thought. Until she died. Then she realized that death wasn't the escape she thought.