Pip felt a whirl of emotions pass through her. It was like she was riding a roller coaster that hardly ended after the large drop. She pulled the chair out from behind her desk, and opened her journey to the next blank page. Steam rose from the cup of herbal tea which, along with a few pens lying about, was the only thing that cluttered her blue desk. Everything else was neat and orderly, from the line of books on the shelves, to the sticky notes and thumb tacks sitting in their places. The desk itself was so shiny that it looked like it had only been bought the day before.

  The early afternoon hours on Sunday were calm and relaxing; perfect for reflecting. Journaling was something new to Pip, something she’d only been doing for a little over a week, and so she still wasn’t exactly sure how it all should be done. Pip gazed over the spines of the books that lined the shelves in her room, she gazed over the names of her favourite writers. Lewis, Bronte, Eyre, Orwell, Dickens; she slowly began to feel like she was following in their footsteps - letting words flow from her heart.

  Pip dated the top of the page, hesitated for a moment, before letting the pen fall onto the paper. And then her pen began moving endlessly.

  Sometimes I just feel tired, and I don’t know why. Sometimes I feel sad for no reason. I know my life really isn’t that bad, but you can’t help feeling the way you feel. People always say to me that I’ve done so well; that I’m a nice person, that I work hard. But I can’t help feeling like I mess everything up. Like I fail at everything I do. There are so many other woman out there who are confident in themselves, who stand their ground. But I’m just timid. I’m just Pip.

  I don’t know why I’ve been feeling like this; the last few weeks have been as calm as ever (apart from the Jacob stuff). Even today has been tranquil, so I really should be feeling good about myself. I made pancakes and coffee for breakfast, I ate them with Sally while we watched old episodes of Friends. There’s something so satisfying about making your own food; it always tastes better for some reason. That’s probably the reason my mother’s homemade roast is always irresistible. Better than any fast food burger and fries you’ll ever eat.

  I started a new book a few days ago, too, or should I say, I’m re-reading an old book from my childhood. The Princess Diaries. With all the restlessness I was describing earlier, reading old nostalgic books does its fair share to put me somewhat at ease. When I was a little girl, the idea of waking up and finding out that I was a princess was kind of my secret fantasy. That’s why I got so into it back then. But now I’m enjoying it because it brings me back to the 90s; and I love the depictions of New York City. It’s quite odd how when we’re children the tiniest things stimulate a world elation and euphoria, like a book or a picture, or going to a new park; but as an adult even the biggest changes can hardly achieve those highs. Maybe it’s because the world is so new to us when we’re children. Well anyway, as summer comes in, a new book is just what I need. It’s giving me a very very tiny bit of elation. I’ve never tried drugs, but I can only imagine that reading books feels somewhat similar to taking ecstasy. I’ll try to read a little bit more of it this afternoon.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Im feeling a bit nervous about going back to work tomorrow. Jacob still isn’t talking to me. I don’t know why; I don’t know if it was something I did, or something I said. His demeanor really did seem to change over the course of a weekend. I wish he’d just speak to me about it - I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding. But it doesn’t really look like he wants to, whenever I’ve tried to bring up the topic, or even approach him for that matter, he just coldly brushes me off. I suppose I’ve gotten to the point where I have to accept that he isn’t going to talk to me, and I suppose I just have to give him space. It’s so sad, because we got on so well. Whatever is happening with him, I hope he gets through it okay. Whenever he’s ready to start talking to me again, I’ll be there for him.

  Onto other thoughts. My therapist says I need to try to find at least one thing to be grateful for every day. So here goes. I’m grateful for my friends. Sally and Mia are always there for me. I’m also grateful for the flowers that suddenly started blooming in our front garden. They’re so beautiful. Gosh, I just thought of two things I’m grateful for. I’m breaking barriers.

  Anyway, I think I can hear someone watching My Neighbour Totoro in the living room. It’s probably Mia. I’m getting better at making this journaling thing a habit - but I think that’s it for today. I can’t pass up Studio Ghibli on such a cosy Sunday. Bye for now.

  Penellope Fey.

  Pip put the pen down on her desk, blew over the ink to make extra sure that it was dry, and then closed her journal. She turned and looked out the window, out at the clouds that were floating peaceful in the sky, and the trees that swayed with the wind. Right now she was beginning to feel relaxed; but she never knew when that feeling would disappear. That was the worst part about being relaxed, you never knew how long it would last. Pip put her journal on the shelf along with her other books, and walked downstairs towards the living room.