Image of a Golden Flower



Today, I must make yet another entry--Imogene is too sad to write anything. "You do it," she says. She is lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I wish she wouldn't do that. It makes me feel sad, too.

We started this because, our mother says, we need something to help us to settle in. Imogene needs it more than I do, though, and she isn't saying anything. I wish she would sit up and do something! There's nothing she can do about this, so she may as well just let it be. Apparently she doesn't see it that way.

I admit, I do feel a little ashamed at talking about her that way. But she is really beginning to annoy me. Tomorrow, though, is the first day of school in our new town. I hope she won't be as apathetic in front of the kids at school. I know I wouldn't want to make friends with someone who looked so dreary. But that is cruel of me. I'll have to introduce her to friends. I know if she just listens to me, she'll have a fine time here. She always complains that it is too hot here. But really that's just her missing the cold.

Well, now I'm done with my little rant. Probably no more tomorrow, but the day after.



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