The Arduous Plain.

Days are getting more mundane, I feel. You start a day with all the optimism that things will be enjoyable and happy. However, it doesn't seem what you do and however hard you do it, fate seems to just bite you in the arse. Even Marie didn't really seem to want to pay me any attention. She's been pouring over some McEwan novel for the last seven hours, and refusing to even say a sentence that wasn't under four words long. Everyone seems to be busy, of course, so I've been left to my own devices and what boring ones they are. I can't amuse myself; I just can't; I need people or I just crumble and end up eating everything in bursts of twenty seconds every hour or so. I made myself a sandwich at noon, and within the hour I was eating some kind of cheesecake (I forget which). Surely, that's just wrong. And then I'll complain about my weight. I have no right to complain really, I'm just instilling the problem for myself.

Or maybe it's not my fault. Maybe it's everyone else for just leaving me out of their damn plans. Well, whatever it was, I did eat an entire tub of mint ice cream for dinner this evening whilst watching Manstrokewoman on my own because Marie refused to put her book down, and I don't know how to cook anything higher than pasta.
And I wasn't in the mood for pasta.