Dear Francesca,

Once again, when I sit down to write, I wonder if the words will come. I hope they will, but I am afraid they won't.

This morning I got up and had breakfast around 9:30 and then went back to bed. I got up again at 1:00, not really wanting to though. Mumma has been at me to get out of the house, and last night I told her I would go to the library today. I almost decided just to put it off until tomorrow, but I didn't want to be lectured again. So I went and stayed for about 40 minutes. The library has changed little over the years. I looked though the shelves, seeing many old and outdated books. The selection doesn't seem to have changed much as to what it was when I was growing up. I didn't look around completely, because if I did, there wouldn't be much new to discover on my next outing. I came home with about four books; one is Anne Rivers Siddons' Hill Towns, which I am looking forward to. The others I will probably skim through; already I have little interest in them.

Franney, I want so much to say that I am feeling better. I wonder when those days will come, when I will come though this grey haze. I look back at my words and they seem so lifeless. I feel as if my life, my words have been stolen from me.

Yours,
Hannah Iona