23/03/50
My husband is acting very strange, I would have to say. He seems reluctant to go to work. He said some things about a burning that has me to believe that either he's gone squeamish or he might finally have started thinking for himself. The danger of him thinking is the stupid things he's liable to do. It must have something to with that girl he was talking about yesterday. I smell affair written all over it, now. He must have been enticed by her exotic thinking and then she must have opened his eyes somehow. I fear what will happen to my life now that he's changed. This is what I get for being bored with my life.
His boss is talking to him in our room this minute. They have been talking for a long time, and I do wonder what it is they're talking about. It isn't worth trying to spy on them, though. They are probably talking about the latest burning or whatever is on the news today.
Ah! They're done, so I must be off now.
>Millie
23/03/50 (later)
Oh no, it's exactly as I thought it would be, but worse. He not only stole a book, but has a stash of them. In our house. Of all the stupid things to do, it had to be this!
I tried to burn them, but he managed to convince me that we need to take a look at them and then we can burn them together. Although I did read a bit and was deeply inticed to read more, I knew we had to burn the books. I put on my persona and tried to convince him that the books were silly and useless.
My husband has been really into asking questions these days. He asked me if the people on the parlor loved me. Of course they don't, but he was trying to prove a point. His point didn't work, though, because he doesn't love me either. He can't love me, because to him I am a fly. I am a little fly on his walls, watching his walls. That is okay, because I don't love him, either. He is just a fly to me, also.
>Millie
