Day 45
The storm has kept us isolated still, and the rations are getting old. So is the company. I feel as though the life has been sucked out of our little group, once so lively and vital.
I snapped a little at Celeste yesterday, over mitten placement I think. At first I thought I’d succeeded in a paradoxical stimulation phenomenon, but after what she did to my freeze dried potatoes…well, romance is out of the question.
I think I saw Kerry coming out of Sarah’s room early this morning, but she said she was borrowing a hairbrush. Suspicion at level burnt umber until other evidence is uncovered.
Chad nearly broke his hand punching a wall today at lunch. Things are a little tense. He said something about swearing off women forever. That’s fine as long as he stays away from my sleeping bag.
Glen tried to lighten the mood by introducing a new member of the team, Mrs. Fiddlesworth. She is unfortunately a crudely manipulated sock. Her arrival has not been greeted warmly by the group. Could be the smell.