|Journal of an Unstable Insomniac
Author: Derrick Bartane PM
Not originally intended to be humorous. Just a couple journal entries of ordinary days in my life. Complete.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,404 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 10-13-09 - Published: 01-29-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2312336
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Journal Entry #1
I wake up. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.
My phone is ringing. I answer it. It's my grandfather.
I find this odd because my grandfather has been dead for five years. He tells me he has the key to saving my eternal soul. I ask if this is a long distance call. He says yes. I tell him to call me back during the weekend. I always get free phone calls on weekends.
I get out of bed, slipping on my pink bunny slippers and matching System of a Down shirt. I step out of my room. My next door neighbor is staring at me. I think he's trying to read my mind again. I get my paper. I don't actually read the paper, but I figure no commodity is inexhaustible. Someday, the world will run out of newspapers and then everyone will have to come read mine. I'm doing it for the children.
My neighbor is still staring at me. I walk back inside my room and make a mental note to wear a lead hat next time I go out. And pants. Maybe.
I grab a towel from wear it is hanging next to my bed, undoing the noose as I walk to the showers. All of my towels are suicidal. I think it was because they were never loved when they were only little washcloths. But I digress.
I step into the shower, dreading the experience as always. I never liked taking showers because...I look around. Yep, full of penguins. All of the other penguins are pointing and laughing at me. I think they're jealous of my bright pink mohawk. A robotic polar bear leaps on one of the penguins from out of no where and viciously tears its head off. The polar bear turns towards me. "Hey Mon, nice hair!" It says. I give it a nod as I step out of the shower. You gotta respect a polar bear with a sense of style.
I walk out of the bathroom and my nose makes one of its frequent bids for freedom. I sigh as I watch it roll under the couch, knowing when I get it back it will be filled with dust. But that is then, not now.
My phone is ringing again.
I answer it.
The operator asks if I would accept a collect call from Sweden.
I say yes.
He says: "Thank you, your opinion is important to us," and hangs up
I haven't eaten in...well a long time. And no way am I going to start now. This time I'm quitting for good. The Cheerios are calling from the kitchen, but I ignore them.
My elbow is ringing.
I answer it.
It's my kneecaps. They want to talk about the undue pressure they've been getting from the ribs. I tell that they have to submit a written request just like all the other body parts.
The Cheerios have formed a quartet with the Lucky Charms, Captain Crunch, and half a bowl of yogurt I left in the fridge.
My nose finally emerges from beneath the couch, sniffing pathetically. I wash it with a bottle of salt water and warn it that I will start sniffing pixie sticks if this behavior continues.
I lay down on the couch.
The quartet has broken up because the yogurt didn't feel the group allowed him to fully express his creativity. He has formed a metal tribute band with the bowl of fruit on the counter.
I feel myself drifting off as the band begins playing "Ironman." The pear clearly needs some more practice.
I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.