Dear diary journal,
Today, I decided to start keeping a diary journal. A lot has been going on in my life as of late. To be honest, it's a little overwhelming! When I think about all of the recent things that have happened to me, I can't help but to imagine a shepherd losing his flock of sheep. I hope that writing all of this stuff down will help me to allocate and retain the day's events. Maybe it'll provide new insights, too? Again, so much has been going on.
Let's start with last Thursday, shall we? Okay!
11/14 — I had gazpacho for breakfast today. I know, journal, I know! "Gazpacho isn't a breakfast food!" In my defense, I'd had it the previous night. It came out so well, and it's one of those dishes that, somehow, tastes even better the next day! I'm getting pretty close to how mom used to make it. It reminds me of her. I wish I'd gotten her recipe, though.
11/15 — I saw a dog while walking to work. A fellow was running through the neighborhood, and he was joined by a humongous Chow-Chow named Gus! Gus was a proper gentleman; he didn't rush me, or jump all over me, or anything like that. He sat there, looking like a very proud bear, and let me pet him. I laughed when his tongue flopped out of his mouth, and wished him and his owner (Matthew) a great day.
11/16 — Danielle took my order at the café. We talked for a while about literature, as we often do. While she's extremely pretty in general, seeing her eyes light up as we discuss the books we've been reading is something else. It makes me happy to see her happy, even if it's over such a trivial thing. She asked me if I had Facebook Messenger, and I told her that I did not. Perhaps I'll download it soon. But won't that seem strange, to download an app just to talk to her? It strikes me as pathetic. I'm sure Danielle would think so, too.
11/17 — There's a spot in my apartment, near the kitchen, where the paint has chipped from the wall. I'd never noticed it before, and I don't believe I've ever bumped into that spot, or had a piece of furniture rubbing against it. Stranger still is that the small piece of exposed wall appears damp. It's a dull white color. I'll have to see about getting it painted over.
11/18 — I had a dream about Gus and Danielle. In the dream I was riding on Gus's back, as if he were some shaggy horse! We galavanted around a park, where people waved and cheered and laughed at us. When Gus started to tire out, we went to a quieter corner, only to find Danielle there. She wasn't surprised to see me astride a massive dog. She smiled as I dismounted Gus and came over to say "Hello". Before long we were close. Very close. Danielle smelled of roses. I became thoroughly lost in her blue eyes. They brought to mind glaciers in a serene seascape. I woke up, disappointed that I didn't stay asleep a moment longer.
I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On my way back to bed, my attention was drawn to the damp-looking spot on my wall. It had grown larger and more round—or so I thought. With my nose nearly touching the wall, I noticed that there were tiny red lines within the rough circle. I blinked, and then found myself staring into a pale blue eye. I gasped and stumbled backwards. The pupil shook, vibrating from side to side in minuscule motions, flicking up and down in spasmodic jerks. It rolled upwards, disappearing into the wall as a high-pitched screeching grew in volume. There was a pause in the world around me. My lungs forgot to take in air and my heart froze. I heard a mechanical crash, as if gears that spanned continents had turned.
A woman screamed from somewhere impossibly far away. The noise echoed in my soul. Everything went dark.
There we are! All caught up. Until we next meet, journal!
As suggested by the title, this thread is for random thoughts, reflections, rambles, etc.
@hogboblin LOL. I appreciate your humor. Keep up the great work in spite of the “nattering nabobs of negativity” who will take this literally and try and save your soul.
Thank you very much.
@hogboblin I know you wont take this the wrong way. But at the question would we come and try to save your soul I (and I know @DonLonG) was immediately transported through the Devils Anus (yes I know its the wrong franchise but I am sure that an innocent person being force to go through the Devils Anus will bring a snarky grin to a hogboblin) to a distant rebel planet Where that very question was posed by Kylo Ren, and there Luke gives the most perfect rendition of the word "no."
I have for a long time now lived in a hidden shame. A unquenchable desire in the depths of who I am. A thirst for dry humor. A hunger for the tender meat shaved from the hapless prey set before the blade of sharp wit. But alas, I am left wanting, neigh accursed, tormented by the forum vultures without so much as a butter knife of wit to defend my butchered intellect. Its corpse lying flat on the ground in a pool of its own wasted sarcasm. Flat on the ground...a metaphor of its one dimensional thought. The multi dimensional wizards owning the space above as the dementors of Hogwarts. If only I possessed the Deathly Hallows of Intellect, the mastery of verbiage wielded by the one whos name should not be spoken. One day Diary, this Phoenix will rise. Until then I will persevere, walking naked and blistering beneath the unyielding sun of my discontent. Oh to have just a spit of shade, a cloud of mercy. But no, i must continue on, I must suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous posts and in doing so win against all the forces of darkness. Now all I can do is fall to my flesh exposed knees, throw my arms into the air and with defiant fists scream into the vast...
@hogboblin Is Danielle a possible cuddle buddy? Have you ever ventured that topic with her, about cuddling? Or you two just stick to literature?
As the door creaks open I can't help but wonder why I threw my coat on the chair. To spite the rack? To hurt the wife? Or simply to watch the cat squirm and dance under it's newfound darkness?
But seriously, I love live telemarketers! The joy of frustrating them with neither yes nor no answers. Sometimes I simply ask them questions back. "Does your insurance offer free dental?" "Are you currently bathing in drawn butter?"
Or better to answer in kind. "Do you currently use satellite or cable?" "Neither. My bones are made of vibranium, which picks up signals from all stations near and far. Most days I can hear the broadcast from my home planet, Quallokin."
Dear diary. I pooped today.
Danielle isn’t real. I made up everything in that first post.
I can picture a world without war. Without hate. Then I can picture a world that would attack that first world because they would not expect it.
I was in the supermarket express lane today with two items . In front of me was a customer pushing a full cart of goods, way over the dozen limit set by the store , yet this person in front of me was giving me funny looks like ,, why did I have to get in line behind her with only two items . The more I looked away the more puzzled this person looked , like , how familiar I looked and was I counting the items in her basket. There was something familiar about this person though ... OMG , it was @Tadah. Just so I wasn’t recognized ,I got in another line with six people in front of me who had overflowing carts of groceries like they were filling their bomb shelters for the upcoming Armeggedgon
Why do I masticate myself in this morning ritual of entering the pseudo reality of the forum. I awake from non reality to supposed reality only to find the entirety of the foundational post was a fabrication. @dharma1257 shares this pain. The cornerstone constructed with cornbread now crumbles before me. Ironic, that which normally delights the taste buds less than suffers the hunger within. Once again I start the day struggling to know from which realm in the convergence I begin.
@cuddlerforu24 Have you cuddled with @Tadah? Did she count her blessings or the packages of Splenda that she thought you might pilfer?
Dear Dumb Diary,
Lately I've had a craving for spicy food, which I haven't actually consumed in many moons. It's starting to really intrude on my life. I think I need help. Can I tell you something, Dear Diary? I know you won't tell anyone. A hobby of mine, which I keep secret, is to spread out a camping tarp in the middle of the woods that is drenched in buffalo sauce. I roll around in it while wearing a suit made of raw chicken, after which I will walk to the nearest fairy circle I can find and kneel before the mighty sun goddess, Amaterasu, whom will bake me up nice and crispy. You might think I remove the suit and proceed to eat it there, in the middle of the forest, clothed by nothing but tree tops and the twittering songs of young birds. But oh, no. It's an exercise in restraining myself from mindless self indulgence. For after I've baked the chicken suit, I sit with myself for an hour, wafting in its delectable scent before removing it, discarding it into the nearest body of water, changing into something more "acceptable", and driving off. The vinegar is what really gets me, as it sharply ascends up my nostrils. Today, when I removed the soaked tarp from the large vat of sauce in the back of the vehicle, the anticipation which once coursed through my veins felt exceedingly dull. Maybe scattering some pepper flakes would help, maybe going back to poblanos and jalapenos for a while... but the prospect seemed fruitless after more consideration. I was hungry, but not for this. Not for this. A disturbing realisation dawned on me then -- the buffalo sauce is not what I chase in the experience, after all, buffalo sauce is the tamest. But it's the most easily ingested in large quantities, without graduating and losing sensitivity. My tight-lidded addiction is therefore controlled. If I chose anything acceptably hotter, I may die... and thus, I'd be unable to practise my daily sacrifice to the sun goddess. I'd become a dark, evil hedon. My conversations with friends for the past few days have revolved around my inability to shake my mind from the thought of hot scorching peppers, hot scorching sauce and how much I beg for it to touch the black crevices of my soul (I'm told the soul resides in the gut). Truth be told, eating hot food is a wondrous feeling, especially when the burn comes into contact with the lips. Ooh, the sweet, sweet burn! When that sting sets in, when the blood begins to rush, when the beads of sweat fall, when the anxiety ramps up to the point of involuntary salivation (to stifle my urge to vomit), I feel like a Kardashian after her appointment with the surgeon. Hot food rivals a plastic surgeon in the lip-plumping department. Maybe the Kardashians have too high a tolerance now. Please, Amaterasu, grant me self-control, so I do not become a Kardashian.
What a beautiful entry. I hope that it inspires people to reflect upon how much self-control they possess. Perhaps it will even compel some to establish a ritual that challenges and empowers them.
Or to simply poop spicy poops
Why do people think this is Facebook?
@BigGuyGa Because we market your personal information.
Dude the NSA is watching...
Oh I forgot they are in on it. Carry on.
This isn't Facebook?
Well, I see faces... The jury's out on whether this thread will ever reach book length though. @Sashamcgee
@Catloaf do you see faces?
Do you think the bounds of this forum have any effect on the strength of ones argument?
Do you think that is air you are breathing?
Do you think that is air you are breathing?
Do you think that is air you are breathing?
Of course not. My diary knows I breathe buffalo and other hot sauces. My diary would never tell on me, though.
You are in The Matrix my feline friend
Follow the white rabbit
I have found the love of my life. I have magnificent conversations with her, and she is always on the same page as me. She never talks back, although her spine is rigid and her back is hard. Her appearance is as white as the baby cumulus cloud. It seems as if I could never leaf her. I have learned with her that you cannot judge a book by its cover.
Ok, diary. I can conceal it no longer. My love is you.
@elguapoblanco: Yours is my favorite diary entry thus far.
Dear diary, I ate an entire bulb of garlic today. I defy anyone with a working nose to mistake me for a vampire now.
I have not yet had coffee and I have to have to haul butt to work. Phoning it in today.
(Omgosh..... so much fun to read!! 😂)
An old woman wanders the halls of my apartment building. Whatever the time, it seems as if she can be found shuffling about, standing in a dark laundry room, or negotiating the stairs.
I’ve greeted her often, and yet, I can’t recall if she’s ever responded. Any alteration to her facial features comes about for obscure reasons. Perhaps she is lost in memories, or whatever remains of them in her advanced age? There: a faint smile. There: a frown like a deep gash in old leather. There: confusion, bewilderment, distress—the nonverbal equivalent of white noise.
She brings to mind a denizen of the Eastern Bloc dragged into the future. Her clothes possess vestigial colors, as if to better blend into a drab cityscape, and she is so hunched over that, at any moment, she might collapse inward. The scent of alcohol clings to her like a cheap perfume.
I’m not certain which apartment she lives in. I think I’ll wait and see which door she returns to, after one of her wanderings. Assuming that she doesn’t disappear elsewhere.
(A day passes.)
24B. I left a bottle of vodka outside her door. I took a few steps down the corridor. I heard a pop, a creak, and a sharp intake of air: a gnarled hand grabbed the bottle and retreated back inside.
@hogboblin Thank you for the vodka. And I only dress like an old woman.
I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore (or the right supermarket). There's no place like home.