Diary: Day 1: 4/19/19

in #diary5 years ago

Preface: I've been telling myself for ages I need to start keeping a diary. I've also been telling myself I need to make time to be more active on Steemit. I've decided to kill two birds with one stone and start doing diary posts on here. These won't necessarily be enthralling literature-- it will literally be some "dear diary" type BS that pops into my mind to mention about the last 24 hours-- but I will be glad to be writing anything, even if it's not stuff that I can turn into a short story or novel, etc. Anyway, without further adieu...

diary.jpg

This feels like a particularly dull day to begin keeping a diary, but it's that same feeling of not having anything interesting to say, of having all the interesting days behind me, that has kept me from starting a diary all this time that I've been telling myself it would be useful, healthy, or at the very least a better use of my time than video games or drinking or railing cigarettes and whatever else.

I had a dream this morning I was on a flat-topped hill between two busy streets, playing keep-it-in-the-air with a soccer ball. Marcel Chen was there and some other old friends of mine. Every time the ball came to me I messed up the kick-- instead of making a high-arching lob back to a friend I would glance it off the side of my shoe and send it hurdling toward the edge of the hill, where if it weren't stopped it would go flying down into a windshield or into the path of a car and cause an accident. Thankfully my friends moved swiftly to save it each time, but I still had us switch to a game of pitch and catch with a tennis ball, so that I would be less likely to mess up and cause some catastrophe. At some point, I threw a pass to my father. I had to keep the arch beneath the branches of the tree I was standing under, so the throw was a grounder, and when he reached down to grab it he toppled over in a way that was lighthearted and comical, but held echoes of something tragic-- a sense of futility and the humiliation that comes with aging.

I awoke to my alarm and decided to ignore it/ turn it off. I was scheduled to be at work for 11 AM and had set the alarm for 8:05 because I knew that Trace-- monthly Subaru digital process analyst-- would want me to make myself available to receive his wisdom, criticism, advice, etc. "Fuck Trace," I thought and went back to sleep for awhile until I heard my mom approach the door in that slow tentative way that shows she's listening through the door, trying not to wake me with her steps even as she prepares to wake me with her voice. "Wooooohooooo!" She calls. "Iannnn!"

"I'm going at eleven," I called back, and I laid my head back down.

"Wooohoooo!"

"I'm going in at eleven!" I called back louder, but the effort shook the sleep from me, and in a few minutes I realized that there was no point staying in bed any longer.

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