I look at myself in the mirror at work. The stark contrast between my lifeless dark hair and my pallid skin is disgusting enough to make me call up Gene and tell him I feel sick.

On the way home, I eat six chocolate dipped butter cookies so that I can fixate on their evil fat content.

At home, I get an apple out of the refrigerator to wash down the evil taste of butter cookie. I lie on the bed to think about my feelings. I take a bite of apple. I realize that I don't want to know why I'm depressed. I distract myself with my fingers, imagining a bunch of knights in shining armor who drag me back to a secret cabin in the forest. There's a bed for each of them, and none for me. So I move from bed to bed while they call me Whore and Slut, with moans and medieval accents. My trembling hand drops the apple. I fall asleep just as the tears come.

When Andy gets home, he kneels next to the bed and kisses me.