The sun may be shining when you read this, but it was a dull day when it was written.  
The sky is an ugly, drab smudge. There is no sun, no rain, no wind, nothing.
 
Across the street is a house. It is a stupid house, full of stupid people. I know them. I wish I didn’t. There are many people you are sorry to have met.
 
It’s too close to have a fire and too cold to do without one. Is anything hollower and drearier than a fireless fireplace?
 
A bird is on a tree outdoors. He is not singing. His head is all drawn down into his shoulders. He is just sitting there hating himself.
 
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A number of people have passed by the window. They are the dullest, homeliest bunch of human creatures I ever saw. I hate them all.
 
A crash—the hired girl has just smashed one of our best plates, an extra fine Sunday plate with gold on it. The only reason I don’t go out and give her a dressing-down is because I hate to move.
 
Why move? Such a day as this you are no happier anywhere than where you are. If you must be miserable why spread it around?
 
Old Mrs. Grumpet has just called. She has told the missus for the nth time about her troubles. She has all the diseases she ever heard of. As soon as she hears of a new one she goes and has it. Sh............