I came home to the homestead and now everything has settled down. I talked to my parents, and they aren't disappointed- well, I think they are. But they don't want me to feel that they are. So I feel better. They seem proud that I've got friends.
My housemate most hated has got a bill for a hundred pounds for me. Argh. This irritates me, though I know I have to pay it, I can't help but think she's making it up. But I've got till July to send it to her.
I think Bovine hates me because she will not reply to my wallposts. I think she knows I secretly think of her (it's usually obvious to others). She and Doll must detest me at the moment; not knowing what to do about me, that, or they must pity me inexorably. Inexorably-not to be placated or appeased or moved by entreaty. Appeased is the one I want.
What else? I have been eating ridiculous amounts, simply because the food is about, which is tragic. I am getting to be a plump pork. I must cut back. I'm not used to this continual fullness feeling, and I know I'm only doing it because I'm bored, so I should stop. I'll find other ways to occupy myself soon enough; I could write a novel, though this leaves ample opportunity for snacking. I don't know.
I am sat in my sister's (she's eleven) skirt, which she discarded because it was too tight, but it fits me, and my brother's cardigan. I look a ragamuffin. I wish I was neater.
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