December 3rd, 1981
It's been a little over a month, and Dee is not coping well. I hadn't seen her this week, so I dropped by her flat this morning on my lunch break, and... I don't know if she's cleaned the place since... well, in a really long while. Things are everywhere. And she's gloomy and quiet and I can't even interest her in Quidditch talk.
I'm just worried and really concerned. I know depression is part of the normal... cycle, I guess, but bloody hell, this is just not the Dee that is my best mate. She won't go out, except for practice or when Ali manages to coerce her over here and I just don't know what to do. She still will barely look at Tommy, and wants to cry whenever he's around.
I feel so helpless.
I think this might be a more (dare I say it) relaxing holiday season for me than normal. Ali, unless you want to do otherwise, I think it might be best if we just stayed home from things this year. It's the first Christmas in the new house, the first one with Tommy, so... I don't know.
Work is going okay, I guess. It's pretty much the same old, same old. Which, now that the war is over, means a lot less dangerous and risky tasks and more paperwork and trying to come up with new ideas on how to improve the existing systems so they don't result in such a failure like has happened in past years.