Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Post One!
This is the first post in a series of 1 page long nightly posts, created in order to get my thoughts in order. Read 'em, if you like.
Begin!
This begins paragraph one of page one of chapter one of a more candid and in-depth not-currently-online diary that I am composing in order to pass the time here at my family’s new location; which, until I get a car, is isolating me from all other branches of humanity.
It is twelve-thirty AM, which means several things. Foremost among them is that, after a long day of existing, my left knee has decided to hurt like a crank-addicted-son-of-a-bitch. I, therefore, must wear a slightly too tight knee brace that makes the crank-addicted-son-of-a-bitch joint a bit more bearable, but not much.
The point of this writing I have just decided to undertake is to allow my brain to speak out in the most uncensored and honest way possible, thereby freeing myself from all the pressure of containing thought, and shackling everyone else into the blood spattered chains of my overactive imagination. Thus beginning now, there will be no re-writes, no corrections—and except for the changing of minor spelling errors, this journal will remain as is. What comes out comes out, and I will not apologize for it. Read on, if you will. But beware, the footing is tricksy.
My mother’s leg has recently swollen up to roughly the size of a cumbersome 1986 Buick, which worried everyone in my family, mainly my father. My father, as a nurse, knows a good deal about medicine and what-have-you, and was able to identify her swollen leg as a “Possible DVT” (or “DBT”, I was never quite sure) which can cause a heart attack, stroke, or other serious complications if left unchecked. She is making an unexpected trip to the hospital tonight to get it looked at.
I didn’t expect to eat any cookies tonight, but here I am, eating cookies. That is my interesting life, man, I get shocked if I unexpectedly eat cookies. I mean, it is no one’s fault but my own; but seriously, who would have expected COOKIES? Of all the god-danged things in the world: Cookies?! Man, I am one cuh-razy cat, but Aye n’Aye been in Babylon, too long.
See, that’s the kind of thing that happens to me. I get sidetracked while walking on this great and glorious highway of life, and I go down these mysterious dark boulevards, in which hide hobos of pestilence, and prostitutes of devastation. Those prostitutes aren’t your normal prostitutes, these prostitutes know how to share. They allow each and every human being a fair share of their devastation, as long as each of us, in turn, doles out a dose of devastation to the nearest long-haired housecat. You see, long-haired houscats are actually the only thing preventing the earth from sinking into the murky waters of apocalypse. Housecats, and the ineptitude of the vile devastating prostitutes. Devastalicious. Desticious.
My challenge to myself grows ever longer. I now plan to force myself into typing one page a day, at 11 font, single spaced. I think that is a good idea. It is nothing compared to what Dickens would write daily, and I’m ten times better than Dickens, right?
Who cares though, honestly? Dickens can kiss my ass and call my Aunt Francine De Nixioux de Monoie a porpoise here to save the day, for all I care. Then again, she is an aquatic mammal. Which raises the eternal question: What exactly is a mammal? I know what a “mammalian” is. But we don’t talk about those. I would giggle, but nobody is around to listen to it.
I used this Night-Time Pore Clarifying Gel, from Neutrogena, tonight. I love that stuff, but it seems to dry out my skin pretty badly, I am ambivalent about continuing use, unless something changes soon, OR I am able to find a better set of skin to replace last year’s model. This thing is getting pretty wrinkled, and lord knows how long that could be! My hands have become to create a language all their own, and fly back down to their meadow, to rest in the arms of the sacred middle-aged woman, whose lifesaving housecats know no boundaries against the vast forces of darkness.
Night One: Complete!
Begin!
This begins paragraph one of page one of chapter one of a more candid and in-depth not-currently-online diary that I am composing in order to pass the time here at my family’s new location; which, until I get a car, is isolating me from all other branches of humanity.
It is twelve-thirty AM, which means several things. Foremost among them is that, after a long day of existing, my left knee has decided to hurt like a crank-addicted-son-of-a-bitch. I, therefore, must wear a slightly too tight knee brace that makes the crank-addicted-son-of-a-bitch joint a bit more bearable, but not much.
The point of this writing I have just decided to undertake is to allow my brain to speak out in the most uncensored and honest way possible, thereby freeing myself from all the pressure of containing thought, and shackling everyone else into the blood spattered chains of my overactive imagination. Thus beginning now, there will be no re-writes, no corrections—and except for the changing of minor spelling errors, this journal will remain as is. What comes out comes out, and I will not apologize for it. Read on, if you will. But beware, the footing is tricksy.
My mother’s leg has recently swollen up to roughly the size of a cumbersome 1986 Buick, which worried everyone in my family, mainly my father. My father, as a nurse, knows a good deal about medicine and what-have-you, and was able to identify her swollen leg as a “Possible DVT” (or “DBT”, I was never quite sure) which can cause a heart attack, stroke, or other serious complications if left unchecked. She is making an unexpected trip to the hospital tonight to get it looked at.
I didn’t expect to eat any cookies tonight, but here I am, eating cookies. That is my interesting life, man, I get shocked if I unexpectedly eat cookies. I mean, it is no one’s fault but my own; but seriously, who would have expected COOKIES? Of all the god-danged things in the world: Cookies?! Man, I am one cuh-razy cat, but Aye n’Aye been in Babylon, too long.
See, that’s the kind of thing that happens to me. I get sidetracked while walking on this great and glorious highway of life, and I go down these mysterious dark boulevards, in which hide hobos of pestilence, and prostitutes of devastation. Those prostitutes aren’t your normal prostitutes, these prostitutes know how to share. They allow each and every human being a fair share of their devastation, as long as each of us, in turn, doles out a dose of devastation to the nearest long-haired housecat. You see, long-haired houscats are actually the only thing preventing the earth from sinking into the murky waters of apocalypse. Housecats, and the ineptitude of the vile devastating prostitutes. Devastalicious. Desticious.
My challenge to myself grows ever longer. I now plan to force myself into typing one page a day, at 11 font, single spaced. I think that is a good idea. It is nothing compared to what Dickens would write daily, and I’m ten times better than Dickens, right?
Who cares though, honestly? Dickens can kiss my ass and call my Aunt Francine De Nixioux de Monoie a porpoise here to save the day, for all I care. Then again, she is an aquatic mammal. Which raises the eternal question: What exactly is a mammal? I know what a “mammalian” is. But we don’t talk about those. I would giggle, but nobody is around to listen to it.
I used this Night-Time Pore Clarifying Gel, from Neutrogena, tonight. I love that stuff, but it seems to dry out my skin pretty badly, I am ambivalent about continuing use, unless something changes soon, OR I am able to find a better set of skin to replace last year’s model. This thing is getting pretty wrinkled, and lord knows how long that could be! My hands have become to create a language all their own, and fly back down to their meadow, to rest in the arms of the sacred middle-aged woman, whose lifesaving housecats know no boundaries against the vast forces of darkness.
Night One: Complete!
# posted by Johnny @ 7:56 PM 
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