Day 14 of being stranded on this desert island I call "my house." The native woman, I've named her Friday, and I are the only ones inhabiting this place. I've looked. There is no one else. -cont-.

I'm learning, if ever so slowly, the language of the native woman. It seems difficult at first and often very confusing. Just when I think I'm beginning to grasp the precepts of the language it seems to change and I have to begin again starting with the obligatory greeting of...

"I'm sorry." I've also learned that if the obligatory salutation is accompanied with a mimicry of a sad puppy face it has great effect with the native woman.
-cont-

Perhaps today we shall venture out again to gather food needed for our substance. We shall don our facemask, decorated with a floral species not native to our domicile and seek meat and bread. Again we hope to apprehend that most elusive of species: Toilet Paper. -cont-

Meals with the native woman has taken on a aspect that I have seldom endured. She decorates the table with flowers of fabric and scented candles. While consuming the meal the lights must be turned out and we are compelled to stare into each other's eyes by the candle light. -cont

What the native woman has called "desert" involves no food whatsoever but is more of a physical consummation of a more spiritual nature. This our made our isolation more endurable and I've begun to appreciate the qualities of the native woman to a much greater extent. -cont-

I will endeavor to continue my efforts to understand the native woman I have named "Friday" and I shall cast my discoveries to posterity so that humanity may also benefit from my isolation with the native species called "woman."