(OOC: The following diary entry is poorly written in an unsteady hand, with multiple misspellings and corrections.)
This be my second diary writing.
I guess I don't need to say that every time.
I got a letter! First proper letter I've ever gotten, I think. Wouldn't make much sense for folk to be writing a woman who can't read anyway. It were from Missus Hopmead who's staying over at the farm in the next village now. She said they're all fine and well, and she were worried how I were getting on without them. I were thankful she doesn't use big words, or maybe she just didn't for my sake. I could read everything, even if it took me a long while to get through one page, and I felt proud of myself. They say it's easiest to teach things to the young. It's even true for animals. Waiting until I were a grown woman makes it harder, but not immpo imposi I can still do it.
I'm finding myself getting very exi ecxi exited (?) for the coming of autumn and the harvest! Summer is nice enough with all the flowers and fresh berries and all. But it's so bleeding hot and the bugs are intal intol intaler I can't stand the bugs. Of course, there's crickets and hoppers now but I like them. I were talking to a right nice fellow in Bree yesterday about it, and about other things. I would write his name, but I know I'll mess it all up. I knew he were from out of town when I saw his hair, red as carrots! Funny thing is, he reminded me of myself more than someone from Rohan, where he said he was from. Outside folk that I meet always seem rich and fancy and well spoke. He talked like he were just a boy from a farm down the road, only he looked different, and I could hear in his voice that he weren't from Bree, of course. The more he talked, the more it were like looking in some kind of odd mirer mirrer looking glass. I hope I see him again. He seemed lonely and I know he had a lass that he fancied and she left him, and I thought about Zale and how he just vanished without so much as a goodbye, and how it still aches and makes me think it were something wrong with me. And of course, there's Hult. I never cared for anyone the way I cared for him. I don't like to think about him, it makes me feel like crying. Caring for fellows is a foolish thing to do. For someone like me, anyway. What am I, just a broken legged numsk numms fool who can't hardly spell.
I hope I get used to this new shoe soon. I think I am. I don't take my walking stick out with me anymore, so I have to practice walking. My leg hurts something awful at the end of the day sometimes, but I think it's just from using muscles and bones that aren't used to being used. Mister Dimheim gave me a fresh supply of tea and oil to rub on, to help with the pain.
I hope he weren't angry with me for seeing him last night. He didn't seem angry. It weren't his fault that I were outside picking apples in the dark because I couldn't sleep. But it weren't my fault, either, that he came outside and started talking to himself in his front yard. I wanted to say hello or something, but he seemed like a torcher torchur unhappy soul at the time. I would have just gone back into the house without troubling him but he saw me standing by the fence. I were so embare ashamed! But he were perfectly nice and he came over and we talked for a good, long while. We both said we needed to be sleeping as it were so late, but just kept talking anyway. I want to think it's because he enjoys my company, but I'm not sure. Now it sounds like I hope the man fancies me and that's not what I meant! I mean that I like talking with him. He's always been a kind person to me, even when he acts a little odd. And he's no doubt a hundred times smarter than I am, and I like being around people who know things I don't, because those are the people you learn from, my Pa used to say. He said the woman who had been sort of unfriendly were a jealous (did I spell it right?) sort. Things like that make my head feel all funny, because what is there to be jealous of? She were a pretty enough woman, she had two legs that worked, she could probably dance and go anywhere she wants without tripping or having to sit down every two minutes to rest. Why be jealous of a lame girl from a farm who's nobody and won't ever be anybody? Folk are silly to me sometimes.
Speaking of silly folk! Mister Dimheim asked if I read romance (did I spell it right?) books. Me! Me, who can't hardly read a market shopping list. Me, who's taken all afternoon just to write this diary. I think he had things he wanted to ask or say, but maybe didn't know how. I think maybe he wants to ask me about women and romances and how they work. Maybe to help him understand the jealous lady he knows. I only wish I had all the answers for him. I mean, I can tell him what I think and believe, but it's only my own thoughts. I'll try to ask him to explain next time I see him. I gave him three apples for being nice as he always is. And he's so thin, he needs to eat more. He made a joke about apples keeping doctors away, and I didn't get it at first, and by the time I were laughing, he looked flustered and that just made it all the more funny.
I hope we get a new boarder soon. I like the quiet, but after so many days, I start to think about things, and people, and then I feel lonely.
