What a horrible day. It’s not that anything explosively bad has happened. No angry horde of wasps has chased after me, no part of my house has collapsed on any of my family, I have yet to hurl another faux pas incident into my deepest chasm of memory.

It just seems object in sight is blank and cold, from the plastic bag curled menacingly over the top of the bin to the suffocating clothes packed in the yawning maw of the wardrobe. I don’t exactly know why, but the day just has an unfriendly air to it, a sterile tint that rubs and rasps against my skin and makes your jaw tighten.

It’s not only me either. Mum’s been irritable all day. Right now she’s engaged in a battle of wills with the computer. The computer’s winning, or so I can assume from the furious bellows of its rival.

Ah! Summer! My dearest season. I wish he’d hurry up on his world tour. I suppose he’s got to share the love though...he’s an international friend. Only vampires would make an enemy of him. And of course I have other reasons to wish for his arrival... reasons i don’t care to elaborate on. They pinprick my conscience with reminders of my exorbitant tendency to procrastinate.

I’d go for a walk, but I can’t help but baulk at the frigid air. The birds trill with no avail to draw me out of my heated abode. How to amuse myself? I spread the alternatives out before me. All look equally uninviting. Crosswords? Ugh. I’d feel like a cooped up and unimaginative granny. Art? No. That’ll just be depressing. I’m in no creative mood. Piano? Already have spent half the morning tinkling away. Read? Too passive. Write? Write what? Brace yourself now: homework?
...
Sigh. It’s not exactly appealing, but at least it’ll be the most productive. Hopefully. I fully hope. I am not full of hope.