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 Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 2:07 pm
Notes on this journal
Please, keep in mind that the author of this journal was working unusually long hours this week but some how managed to complete a sub-standard journal for this boot camp task.
This diary is about the life of a 17-year-old English college student. It begins with her dreams, thoughts & ideas but is abruptly interrupted by disruptions in her life.
Dates are written in dd/mm/yy format - English style. All characters are fictional, any company names are used in a fictional context, etc...
On with the story!
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 2:34 pm
Entry One. The one whose benefit I'm writing for.
03/01/04
Dear me,
You've probably grown up a lot now and you've probably stopped dreaming so much, so, this is your old world of dreams. I hope you haven't forgotten it.
These are your dreams. And now you're living your life. But the dreams aren't gone. Your dreaming self kept them for you. Don't forget her.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 2:44 pm
Entry Two. The man who follows one path will see it through to the end.
03/01/04
Dear me,
I saw him again today. Saying it like that, it makes him sound like a boy I have a crush on. But I don't, really, besides, he must be over thirty.
We call him Running Man. Everyone does. If you mention 'running man' everyone in town knows what you mean because that's what he does. He runs. He is always running, always, everywhere. Last year, he disappeared for a month or two and my mother worried and that's how I first, really, began to notice him.
He's an odd character. He doesn't run normally, and his age is hard to tell but I'd guess he's in his thirties. He runs with one arm swinging at his side and the other still and motionless.
I actually saw him twice today, once on my way to the centre of town and once on my way back - in the abominable heat - still running and I doubt he'd ever stopped.
Running is all he does. It's as if it's his purpose. I doubt he has a job and he doesn't seem much of an athlete. I have no idea how he gets by. But I want to know. I want to be a part of his life. I want to understand, to know. But... running is his life. So, I don't think I can ever be a part of it.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 2:56 pm
Entry Three. A simple reaction says more than a normal conversation.
04/01/04
Dear me,
In class today, I was thinking. You can tell a lot about a person by their simple reactions to some situations.
For example, when, in the street you find yourself side-stepping back and forth with another person, both trying to move out of each other's path, people react differently.
Some people, when someone apologises afterwards or says thank you, reply with "that's okay", "you're welcome" or something similar. These people tend to be full of themselves and are often narcissistic or arrogant.
Others, in the same situation, thank the other person. This, I think, is the most balanced and normally reaction in my example. It's neither an extrovert's reply nor an introvert's.
Those who are unsure of themselves, often apologise. I think, I often fall under this category.
That's my thought of the day.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 3:34 pm
Entry Four. Memory is a confusion that it's better not to remember.
07/01/04
Dear me,
My mother's right. I need to buckle down and study.
But no matter how much I try to remember it all, I can't.
Yet, I remember pointless things, like how 616.8 is the Dewey decimal number for books on mental illnesses. Not that I'm studying mental illnesses, but a friend wanted to find books on Autism in the library once. And I remember that. But I can't remember what Nietzsche thinks about religion or what the method for the layered haircut we learnt in class last week was.
I don't know why I took the subjects I did, hair & beauty's no fun. It's full of morons. Philosophy is a lot of dead, old people's dated ideas about life. And English literature is, well, literature and just like the Philosophy it's dated. We never study anything contemporary.
I wish, though, I wish, I could concentrate and remember it all.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 3:36 pm
Entry Five. Could you kill your best friend?
11/01/04
Dear me,
Saw a good film today. Battle Royale. It's about being forced to kill your classmates and I'm not so sure I could do it, I mean, it's pretty inhumane.
I don't think I'd care enough about my survival to fight for it. But I'd hate that kind of end. Fear. Betrayal. Helplessness. I don't care enough about my survival to kill others but I wouldn't want to die like that.
I wouldn't want to die without...
I wouldn't want to die.
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Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 4:23 pm
Entry Six. Passing by isn't making an impact.
12/01/04
Dear me,
I saw him today. Him. Running Man. It sounds so stupid calling him either of those things but I don't know his name. He might be called David. He might be called Nikolai and be from eastern or northern Europe and speak with a heavy accent. He might not be able to speak. So, I can't really say a thing about him but...
I'd like to make an impact on his life. I'd like him to affect my life more. I can never know him, never understand him if all I do is pass him by.
I want something. A smile at least. A little sign. I don't care what it is but I want to be a part of his world. I want to be a part of a world with a purpose. But I don't suppose, with his one purpose, he really has anything else. I can't help but think about it though.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 4:02 pm
Entry Seven. Hospitals can only mean tears. Tears of joy, tears of sadness. But what if there are no tears?
14/01/04
Dear me,
Mother left the house as soon as she got home, she said, she'd gone to the hospital but she'd probably be back soon.
Father came home shortly afterwards.
When I told him, he seemed fine about it all but then, after that, he seemed aggravated. I couldn't understand it. Hospitals, so far as I can see, always bring tears. But what my father was feeling seemed more than tears.
When babies are born, for example, there are tears of joy.
When someone's diagnosed with something horrible, there are tears of sorrow.
When they're cured - if they're cured - there are tears of joy and relief.
And finally, at death, tears of sorrow are shed again.
So, why is my father's reaction different?
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 4:24 pm
Entry Eight. The machinery that regulates normality in my life is broken.
15/01/04
Dear me,
It was past one a.m. when my mother came home and by the time I woke up this morning, she was gone again. And I wonder, why is she spending so much time in hospital?
If there was something wrong with her then why would she have come home last night?
So, what's wrong?
I don't know. But it's certainly affected my father. He practically screamed at me "Go to school or you'll be late" even though I had no lessons today and I'm in college now, not school.
I went out anyway, sat in the park, loitered on His regular routes waiting to see if he'd pass through my little world, even if nothing came of it, I like to see him. I didn't see him though. I should have seen him but I didn't.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 4:30 pm
Entry Nine. Why open the window and let in a draft when you can open the door and let in a storm?
16/01/04
Dear me,
She didn't come home from the hospital at all last night but she called me during philosophy today asking me to get to the hospital as soon as I could. I could stay through my class, but I should come as soon as possible.
That was all she said.
So, I went.
I walked all the way to the hospital, in the pouring rain. I walked past a few of the places I know He runs but I didn't see him. Again, I didn't see him. I need little things like him being here now too but on my way to the hospital, I didn't see him.
Now, I'm sitting in reception, with no clue where to go. I called my mother, she said she'd come get me but I'm pretty worried. Pretty distraught.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 4:40 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 5:03 pm
Entry Eleven. Rights & Wrongs.
16/01/04
Dear me,
I didn't feel that I COULD write anymore earlier. I still don't know what I think. What I FEEL. It's probably quite obvious that the way I thought of Him before was not the way people normally think about their brother and I'm not sure if I'm WRONG to think like this. Right now I just can't UNDERSTAND what I'm thinking.
I should be HAPPY because I know Him now. I'm making an impact on his life. I haven't even said a WORD to him yet though because I was AFRAID to speak to him. And he was asleep when I was there. I don't know what I would have done if he woke up whilst I was there.
It's quite FRIGHTENING watching something you always wished to see when it's under totally different circumstances. I don't UNDERSTAND me anymore, I CAN'T just go on thinking like THIS. But I don't know what else I can do. He's my brother.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 5:07 pm
Entry Twelve. He IS my brother.
17.01.04
Dear me,
I need to except it.
He IS my brother.
His name is Adam. He lives in a small apartment just off King Street.
He is Thirty-four years old.
He is my mother's child.
He has never met his father. MY father is frightened of the idea of my mother's son.
He is Running Man.
I have no clue what his job is and I've never heard his voice.
But he IS my brother.
And he is in a critical condition in Southmead Hospital.
He is bleeding internally.
He is MY BROTHER.
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 5:12 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 5:16 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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