At 6am Amy woke to the delightful sounds of birds chirping and car doors closing as people began their commute to work for the day. Being the neat freak she is, she diligently made her bed and shuffled into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

Toast and jam. Awesome.

7:20am rolls around and Amy feels like watching the tewbs a bit. In her jim jams. Because she’s a grown up and can do whatever the hell she likes! Yeah!

What? Bills in the letterbox at 8:20am?! Ugh! Being a grown up isn’t all jim jams and toast and jam.

At 10am Amy turned the TV off and did some tidying up. She recycled yesterdays paper, and laughed at the bin. Crazy bins. What even are they?!

11:45 sees Amy’s fervent return to the window. I’m starting to worry about that. It’s odd. She stares out the window until 2:30pm. That’s a really long time to be staring out a window. What is she looking at? Is she pining for the outside world? Maybe she should go for a walk later. Just for the air and to check out the neighbourhood. Why haven’t any neighbours come to visit?

Even though her hygiene bar is still over half full Amy decides to jump in the shower. She was far from woofy, but I think it was just an excuse to get out of her PJs. She sang in the shower in Simlish. Sounded like she was having a fantastic time. I wish I could understand the lyrics. It sounded a bit like James Brown. She gives good funk.

Refreshed and ready to face the day, she’s plucked up the courage to pay the bills that arrived that morning – a rattling reminder that funds are limited. Better pay the bills then get right onto the job search. Bills come to §84, leaving §656 in the bank account. Should be enough to live off until a job comes along. Staring at the letterbox puts her in a great mood. Of course it does…

Job search today seems equally fruitless:
Music career, a fan. §21 p/h.
Culinary career, Kitchen Scullion. §25 p/h.
Military career, Latrine Cleaner. §40 p/h.

40 Simoleans an hour!? God that’s tempting. But there’ll be no time for writing. In a Military career all spare time would be spent researching and keeping in shape, surely? Not that desperate yet. There’s enough in the bank to wait it out. For now.

Back inside, Amy turns the TV on for a few hours before deciding on some dinner. These bills and job searches and grownup responsibilities are getting too heavy. She decides to have ice cream for dinner. Take that, childhood! Throwing out the empty tub fills the bin inside, so she decides to take the rubbish out to her upright non-molested garbage bin. In true Amy style, staring at the bin makes her happy.

To bed at 11pm, per chance to dream of babies, ghosts, death, gravestones, wedding cake, and dragons. Fuck yeah, dragons.

Meet Amy Walker. She’s rad. A healthy young adult, she’s Friendly, has a Good Sense of Humour, is Neat, a Hopeless Romantic, and just happens to be a Genius to boot. Crikey! She aspires to be a Professional Author, and adores Ratatouille, indie music, and the colour green. Being a Taurean, she’s all about the… stuff Taureans dig.

She recently parlayed a government handout of §16,500 into her very first home, “The Monotone” of 72 Waterlily Lane. She moved into this modest house on Sunday morning, at 8am.

After wandering around her new surroundings, she stopped a while to admire the scenery from the window.

Then another.

Cora the papergirl dropped the newspaper on the front porch, and Amy went out to greet her. Cora thought Amy was okay. They talked for a bit about the neighbourhood, and hamburgers. Cora LOVES hamburgers. They decided to be friends, despite the age gap. Hamburgers bring people together.

Amy waved goodbye to her new friend and took the paper inside before walking over to have another look out the window. After an hour, she switches to the adjacent window. Amy starts laughing. It’s 11:30am. +25 to her mood, she’s entertained. I feel a little awkward. I’m letting a genius — a brilliant mind — get her kicks from looking outside. There’s nothing even happening out there.

By 4pm I buy her a TV to appease my guilt. Enough is enough. She hated the chairs opposite the couch anyway, and the window staring was getting a little creepy. She threw her hands in the air excitedly and yelled “Pluhhhhh-JEEBY!” when she saw the TV for the first time. She sat down to watch The Game.

+40 to her mood, “Having a blast”. Thank god she’s not cackling at a window anymore.

At 7:20pm she turned the TV off to make herself some dinner. She was only peckish, but grabbed some cereal nonetheless. When she did the dishes (well, dish) afterwards she got +250 Happiness Points for “Cleaning Something”. Such is the thrills of the neat-freak, I guess.

9pm rolls around and she gets a hankering for some window gazing again. I interrupt with the suggestion of perhaps looking for a job in the paper.

Science career, Test Subject. §44 p/h.
Medical career, Organ Donor. §22 p/h.
Culinary career, Kitchen Scullion. §25 p/h.

I can’t help but feel her main concern is “Will there be windows!?”.

None of those seem to be even close to a paid author. Maybe she can try again tomorrow. Not terribly bothered by the job search’s fruitless results, she jumps in the shower just before 10pm and is in bed by half past.

She dreams about the house, fire, books, and clowns. No windows, though.

Not sure if the TV was a good idea or not, for Ted. The minute it was in the house he was pulled to it, unable to look away. But the noise was comforting and believe it or not he was learning things. Nothing too intense, but it can’t make you dumber, right? At least the risk of garbage-can-related tantrums is lower.

Before Ted knew it, 3 hours had passed with him watching the tube. There was a cute girl in pink spandex working out on one channel. A food show on another. A station with explosions. A station with yelling. I think it was Cops. Ted forgot to eat. Finally the hunger pains grew too strong and he walked to the fridge to see what he could make for dinner. It’s 8:30pm.

Ted’s cooking skills aren’t quite up to making his favourite food — ratatouille — but he decided on trying something basic like Mac n Cheese. It’s simple but it’s warm. And cheesy. If the job search takes a long time he should really invest some time in improving his cooking skills. There’s nothing like retiring to the kitchen after a hard day’s work to make some good old fashioned comfort food.

Ted’s lack of skill became all-too-apparent all-too-quickly as he got further into the dish. Ted’s no Masterchef. It’s taking ages to make. It shouldn’t take this long. It’s 9:50pm and Ted burns the meal.

Crap.

Ted really needs to make every simolean count until he can lock in a job that even remotely inspires him. He doesn’t have much choice, he decides to eat it anyway. Better than going to bed hungry.

Tired, frazzled, and with a fairly rancid meal in his stomach he decides to shower and call it a night. At least he didn’t cut himself or burn the house down. Really should read up on cooking.

Spitting out zeds by midnight, Ted dreamt of the house, and cooking. And flies.

And tanks.

Tanks are awesome.