/ / D e a r xD i a r y
x o x
Mommy and Daddy called at 8 o’clock for the fourth consecutive night, and I wonder if they miss me or just want to know I’m breathing. I don’t believe I’m their little investment—I love them a lot, and I think they love me too—but when they ask, “Ruthie, do you remember to lock the door?” or “Ruthie, do you walk alone at night?”, I wonder how much they believe in me. I mean, it’s not like I’d run into an alley or climb onto a stranger's motorcycle or explore an abandoned factory. I’m rational! I prioritize grades above clubs and parties, and I always have my phone in case of an emergency while I walk home from Crit Lit and Revolutionary Classics. Still, they ask, “Did you get the pepper spray?”
Parents, I love you, but please…
I spent the summer playing Tetris and staring at blank pages. I haven’t written* this entire summer. Normally I pound out pages and pages of heroes as complex as their settings—the peach orchard represents his fury! The graveyard represent her domestic failure!—but after class let out, I sat on my white leather couch with my kitten plushies and ate popcorn while watching Shakespeare films on repeat (Taming is dece, but call me cliché, I’m a sucker for Romeo and Juliet). I also read more Oscar Wilde and Bronte sisters (Dark, dashing heroes on the wrong side of the fence—what’s not to love?)
Like a caged ape, I grow weary of my home. I want out. I think tomorrow I’ll walk around the park. I haven’t written in a park since my freshman year, when I had the romantic notion that blossoming dogwood could inspire epic poetry, and under said dogwood, I summoned my muse (whom I imagined smoked mint-flavored cigarettes and ate biscotti), but alas, I set aside my pen and listened to the birds until I fell asleep. Some poor stranger poked me four hours later to see if I still breathed.
Actually, this probably explains my parents’ concern.
Last time I visited home, they showed me a newscast about this Negaverse v Senshi business that’s overtaking the city. Certainly, both sides seem violent, but the Negaverse seems violent on behalf of citizens? Right now, there doesn’t appear to be enough evidence justifying accusations, so following suit with the Intellectual’s Dilemma**, I refuse to state an opinion.
I suppose we’ll eventually see who emerges the victor, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not getting involved.
Anyway, this little diary entry closes my evening. Tomorrow, after I defeat several anonymous Tetris players searching for competitive thrill, I will immerse myself in the woods park like Thoreau. Perhaps my muse will appear in her smoky, minty glory and I will produce a masterpiece. I will also watch a soap opera because I need my daily dose of trashy, unrealistic plots focused on confusion and carnal desire***.
Goodnight, Diary. I love you.
*Produced a groundbreaking masterpiece of creative and analytical thought—a piece of literature as innovative as the tuna sandwich: Tasteful and economic.
**Intellectual’s Dilemma: Intellectuals love to be right, but hate being wrong even more, so they refuse to fully endorse or reject an idea until it’s proven beyond a doubt (and sometimes, even then they will not fully endorse or reject). A good problem, but a problem, nonetheless.
***Billionaire Bachelor, when are you airing again? I crave your portrayal of romance and socioeconomics. Also, the men you cast are hotttt.
Word Count: 583.
Parents, I love you, but please…
I spent the summer playing Tetris and staring at blank pages. I haven’t written* this entire summer. Normally I pound out pages and pages of heroes as complex as their settings—the peach orchard represents his fury! The graveyard represent her domestic failure!—but after class let out, I sat on my white leather couch with my kitten plushies and ate popcorn while watching Shakespeare films on repeat (Taming is dece, but call me cliché, I’m a sucker for Romeo and Juliet). I also read more Oscar Wilde and Bronte sisters (Dark, dashing heroes on the wrong side of the fence—what’s not to love?)
Like a caged ape, I grow weary of my home. I want out. I think tomorrow I’ll walk around the park. I haven’t written in a park since my freshman year, when I had the romantic notion that blossoming dogwood could inspire epic poetry, and under said dogwood, I summoned my muse (whom I imagined smoked mint-flavored cigarettes and ate biscotti), but alas, I set aside my pen and listened to the birds until I fell asleep. Some poor stranger poked me four hours later to see if I still breathed.
Actually, this probably explains my parents’ concern.
Last time I visited home, they showed me a newscast about this Negaverse v Senshi business that’s overtaking the city. Certainly, both sides seem violent, but the Negaverse seems violent on behalf of citizens? Right now, there doesn’t appear to be enough evidence justifying accusations, so following suit with the Intellectual’s Dilemma**, I refuse to state an opinion.
I suppose we’ll eventually see who emerges the victor, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not getting involved.
Anyway, this little diary entry closes my evening. Tomorrow, after I defeat several anonymous Tetris players searching for competitive thrill, I will immerse myself in the woods park like Thoreau. Perhaps my muse will appear in her smoky, minty glory and I will produce a masterpiece. I will also watch a soap opera because I need my daily dose of trashy, unrealistic plots focused on confusion and carnal desire***.
Goodnight, Diary. I love you.
*Produced a groundbreaking masterpiece of creative and analytical thought—a piece of literature as innovative as the tuna sandwich: Tasteful and economic.
**Intellectual’s Dilemma: Intellectuals love to be right, but hate being wrong even more, so they refuse to fully endorse or reject an idea until it’s proven beyond a doubt (and sometimes, even then they will not fully endorse or reject). A good problem, but a problem, nonetheless.
***Billionaire Bachelor, when are you airing again? I crave your portrayal of romance and socioeconomics. Also, the men you cast are hotttt.
Word Count: 583.
Born of ancient Sun...Thou knowst the way...
