The air of depression around the house is heavy and made worse (or just made?) by Andrew’s moroseness. Mum seems affected by it too.
At school, my anger lingers on, the pettiness and nasty comments seeming to reinforce and justify my self-imposed isolation. Claire was in a good, confident mood: after all, she’s just had a weekend with her new boyfriend! I left at one and walked back home to the depression and to Andrew’s reflective mood. I hate the atmosphere here at the moment. It's so stifling and featureless.
I write too much and too little of it is of value.
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