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For quite a few weeks now I have been in the process of developing a Journal of Impossible Things. It’s just a book that I got on sale at Barnes & Noble that has a beautiful insect on the front. I write various musings within it. It was originally a way for me to remember what work ought to be done in school, but I doodle and put insignificant quotes all around. It in itself is also a journaling space. I write out my feelings when I need to, which isn’t that often. Curious, I can’t write as much of myself out onto paper, but typing, on anything, I can go forever. I have always questioned my inability to do that. I have only written forever and ever on paper a few times in my life. I believe the most recent time was a letter to Mrs Robinson. Even that was not “recent.” The letter itself was written a few months ago and never sent. The letter did get to her, but I did not send it by post. I don’t trust the post office with mail to Mrs Robinson after what happened last time.

It was her birthday. I had neatly wrapped her gift and placed it in a package and addressed it. I brought it to the post office, had it weighed, and payed for postage and whatnot. Mrs Robinson has still not received the gift, and it has been months. I do know there was a slight mishap on my part. On the address I messed up the street or the number, I forget which, and I feel so foolish. Upon remembering the actual address, it was too late. I assumed the post office was smart enough to recognize the name was one letter/number off, but, obviously, since she hasn’t received it, they aren’t as brilliant as I imagined them to be. Luckily, being the scholar, gentleman, and Doctor that I am, I remembered of her Owl fascination and was able to get her something for her birthday. She does love that man, she admitted to wanting to marry him once, but I forget the circumstances. He is famous after all, no matter how gorgeous.


“And it’s cold in my apartment as I’m turning all the colors from the brightest reds to grays.”


I hate waking up early. It’s not just waking up early, but it’s waking up early to a freezing cold room, with frost on the windows, alarm blaring, and not a blanket in sight as they all seem to have fallen off onto the floor. I don’t even understand how or why my house is so cold in the mornings. The windows are shut. The vents are open and uncovered. I am covered in blankets. However, every morning, without fail, I get goosebumps and chills and a massive headache. The headache comes mostly from my deafening alarm clock. It’s bad enough to wake up close to death of cold, but with that noise ringing through my mind like a stampede in the jungle; it’s enough to drive one mad. I feel like I’m trying to 1-up myself. I keep having these things pop into my head that are going on at the moment that are worse than the thing before. For example, waking up cold and aching has more pain added to it with a sore throat and congestion. I am starting to recover, but all of last week I was struggling to breathe and I was dizzy. My nose was mucus clogged and my throat was sore and kind of swelling. My body is so pathetic sometimes. I was sick in September of the same stuff. I recovered in a week, but then it comes back a month later! Sickness is one of those things I’ll never understand. You know how they say that if you are sick more often than not that your body will develop more immunity against illnesses? I don’t believe that. If it was true, I would never, ever, be sick. I did almost die as a newborn, so I should be thankful. The sick and dying newborn story that I have is a little twisted, so I won’t share. It’s twisted in the sense that I don’t know the real truth and everyone in my family has given me a different story. I don’t want to lie to you, ever, so I’ll keep that story to myself. I never said I wouldn’t let you wonder, did I? Wondering is more fun.

I’m very happy today. Last night a wonderful friend of mine jumpstarted my universe, as she does a lot, and I’m more energetic and optimistic. She’s my best friend and carries me through everything. She helped me see happiness and joy again. She always does that for me. It hurts me to say that I have lied to her. She’s the one girl I never want to do that to and yet I have. I can only name one time I’ve lied to her, I can’t remember any other times, but still… I trust her with my everything and yet I actually had the audacity to even attempt lying to her. I’m heartbroken at the idea of it, I feel so evil, like a monster. What do I do to gain that back? I haven’t lied to her since that. Or have I? Is joking around with her considered lying? Now I’m feeling convicted about that as well. I’m disgusted. How can I do that to her? The one good person to have stepped into my life in awhile, and stayed and been here for eternity, and I did that. I lied. I do regret more than I admit.

I always ask her why she must leave. She leaves, she always does, and I always ask her why. I don’t want her to leave, no matter what the circumstances. I want her to stay and not let go… Every time, without fail…


“Why do you always leave?”


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