Post an entry from your diary

...

The need to jam things into my gums is insatiable and the need to find new things to push between tooth and gum below/above is one like a needle, more like an itch. Nails on fingers eroded by my canines trying to get a clean cut of nail, just threw the nails away by mistake though, put the storage m&m packet in the bin. Gums sitting trembling, naked and woefully unpicked to satisfaction.

I have not showered in a few days and I smell; a not unpleasant sour tang of uncleanliness, satisfying in the same way that shit smell is, or dick smell is, not as strong as those at all though, just an aroma. Oh there it is, caught it again. Not sweat or anything. I get the smell usually on long nights working, which this is not. I tried to put some rice between tooth and gum to no avail. Ah it is stuck now in an angle most painful, ow. I am sure I shall find a way to remove it. Ahh, it is gone now after some prodding with an old nail. Gums soaring wonderfully with this relief. Put the rice grain in the bin, for more can be found at the bottom of my backpack. I thought they were insects at first.

Observed my teeth in the toilets of the ground library floor (somebody else was in the others). Nice triangle between my bottom right middle tooth (not left of right bottom canine but left to the one that’s next to it, what’s the word for this?) That grows redder and larger. It is now a permanent black tringle and gap between gum and tooth, for I enjoy picking this spot often, indeed it is my favourite spot perhaps. It is very accessible, and the gum around it fits the curvature of most nails like a jigsaw piece. I only really pick the right side of this tooth, as it is tenderer and, as clarified, convenient. It is also an easier spot to hit with my right hand as opposed to my hopeless left. I can push nails to and fro it with ease, deeper into the gum like filing, or sawing into it like, not into the gum but like around the tooth, as if trying to mine around a valuable rock and dislodge it. I do of course hope not to lose this tooth and actually dislodge it, but the feeling of prodding in undiscovered areas below it is most pleasant. How I would love to drill a tiny hole directly below the tooth and force air and saliva through it with my tounge, that is plugging the hole by pushing spit and shit out and through, and releasing this pressure and burden with a powerful sssuuuuck, urinal flushing (surely there is a more romantic metaphor to describe this pleasant ssssuccccck sensation, of course the release is similar to orgasm, but that is a pssssh, not a sssusck). But thus I do not have such a drill.

As for the rest of my teeth, yes I should see a dentist, for I have not in years now, and my back teeth are very discoloured, and I do not notice this for they do not show most of the time. They are gritty, and yet regrettably when I scrape them I do not yield any yellow sludge (not sludge, not sludge in texture at all, but the reader will understand me).

poo poo pee!
poo poo pee!
pee pee pee!
pee pee pee?

poo poo poo!
poop poop poop!
poop pee pee!
pee pee poop?

PEE PEE PEE!
POO POO POO!
POO POO POO?
PEE PEE PEE!

"Aw fuckin' hell" i muttered to myself, maybe to god. This whole fuckin' world is falling apart around me.
My life is done. I spent my last penny on a failed wrestling course, my wife ran off with her boyfriend, and i'm going to end it
"My name isnt important, you'll pay." i said to myself, maybe to god.

Dear diary,

WHY?! WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME SO WITH THESE JEZEBELS? My one single wish is to be left to my own asexual devices, free from the thorned grip of perverse tempation, unclouded or swayed in my noble search for intellectual playthings of the mind, yet by your hand I am endlessly titillated by these vixens with their prodigious hips and provocative figures. Can I never satiate this thirst, will I ever know the touch of a woman and enter between her loins? Will these hands ever feel a woman's swaying weight in their open palms? Will I ever know a plump, ruby pair of lips perched betwixt my shoulder and my ear, whispering "I want you, I want you now" in that chocolatey croon I know so well from dreamtime? Will my seed ever drip from her moistened hole, indicating the completed unity of our unhinged sexual impulses? Life is a constant hell. Day in and out the tired red eyes glaze in some attempt to shield me from these images. I am floating in the blistering heat of my id's vacuum, castrated and blinded by my wretched libido. No wonder I resent women so.

Signed,
user-kun

>Americans have no identity, but they do have wonderful teeth
you are an honorary American even if you refer to the restroom as toilets

I live down the street from you've noticed me, I've never seen you
Wonder what the fuck I do
Listen up, you nosy bitch, listen close
My most recent purchase, old black rope
Gonna learn how to tie it, hang it in my chamber
Perfect reminder occult I'm made of
Come try it out whenever you wanna

Last night, three thirty in the morning, Death on my front porch
Can feel him itching to take me with him, hail Death, fuck you waiting for?
Like a question no one mention, he turns around, hands me his weapon
He slurs, "use at your discretion, it's been a pleasure, Stefan"

Most of us would take theatrics over comfort any day, that of sitting in misery with perfect music, rather than live a happy life with no music at all. This because music provides something that even the best life cannot, and that is "something else", something higher ... Hence we love the pain because it gives us to context we need to feel something more, something that we are impatient to wait for, lest it not actually exist.

I wrote that only three days ago and I'm already ashamed of my pseudness :'(

>I like music.

reads like Death Grips

TITLE: "That's Not Me Anymore"

“I’m already standing on the ground.”
Every moment that leads to this one
Seems not to have existed--
“This feeling I get
When I look to the West”
Relevant because you were sitting to the west of me that day
Is that funny?

Feeling a romance brewing
Changes the way I look at girls
I look left:
“She looks nice,
But that’s not her.”
I look right:
“Great ass,
But that’s not her.”
I look down:
“Is that me?”
I look up:
Warm, expansive skies.
“My spirit is crying for leaving”
And what’s left behind is the man I was before I met you.

Thoughts?

13/09/15

Tonight I've dreamt of her again. She was dressed in white. The clothes she had on were quite ordinary ones, like a tee and a miniskirt, but all white and bright, almost as if emitting light. I remember she was holding my hand to lead me somewhere important, but I was reluctant and I asked her to stop several times. She would always smile at me and say to carry on, but I continued to request that she stopped. When she asked what the problem was, I was so agitated that I found it impossible to put my words together. She must have seen that I had a hard-on because I was worried about it the whole time, but she acted like she didn't notice and kept encouraging me to move on with oh such a soft voice I could sense something inside me melt away.

When I woke up my bed was a gooey mess. This has to stop. I cannot remember the last time I spoke to her without preoccupying about my dick. I still remember that one time she invited me in her room. She was drunk and she asked me to accompany her, but I am sure there was nothing flirty in that. Actually, I think she's utterly unaware of the effect she has on most males. I was ready to leave as soon as I saw her in her room, but she asked me to stay for a while. It was a confusing display. There wasn't a thing in the place where you would expect it: there where books on the kitchen table, along with perfumes and a screwdriver, several flower pots on the floor near the bed, some of which empty, etcetera. The smell was unexpectedly good though: a mixture of baked sweets and lavender.

I looked for an available spot on the bed and I sat down for a while, waiting patiently while she was in the other room, and looking around, trying to keep my cool. Then she surprised me while I was distracted: it was a tickle attack! She started tickling my belly from behind me and I was so shocked that I fell to the side of the bed. My face was pressed against something smooth an silky. I smelled an aroma so peculiar and intense that I reacted immediately to it and I draw back. It was her panties, clearly they have been used recently.

I was so dizzy because of that sublime fragrance, that I lost track of what was going on. It was a boner emergency. I asked her to the bathroom, I had to prevent that disaster. As soon as I was in, I started jerking off fervently, but it didn't pass much time that she said she was coming in because she needed to puke. Of course I wasn't done, but I managed to put my pants back on just in time. I left the bathroom, and while some truly unattractive sounds were coming from the bathroom, I was so intent in elaborating plan B that I didn't notice them. The window caught my attention. I opened it and I looked outside. Nobody was around because it was late, so while making sure she was still occupied, I dropped my pants and continued where I left. Soon white drops where falling down below. It was winter again, at least for some unlucky fellow that left home at the worst moment.

no milky makes erik a bad boy
no milky makes erik a bad boy
no milky makes erik a bad boy
...

You aren't a pseud for having thoughts like this, don't worry

Today, as usual, I've woken up in total disarray.
I feel, I thought, total indifference towards life, yet I feel more and more each day attracted towards its endless possibilities.
The past tells us countless tales of virtue, bravery and fantasy. I feel the current stability is nothing more than a fragile mirage that could be overturned any day, but only by a person with remarkable imagination and volition. One wonders how long it will take for such person to appear.

Holy...

Other people's happiness feels like salt in the wound,
It's not stoic or right and life is never fair,
But it's hard to watch your struggle become someone else's muscle,
And feel your pain while others make gain.

I-it's a j-journal, dad!

October 14th

Had a daydream the other day while waiting for the bus. Looked to the night sky and imagined the stars. I imagined a time in the remote future where all but one have failed, and the one left is the final beakon over the black sea of creation, the last thing keeping eternal darkness at bay. Further still is the time where that last star dies and crumbles to ash, and it's remains are scattered on the cosmic winds into the aether. I then saw myself standing on the surface of an endless grey ocean, walking upon its surface. There was no sun or stars or moon, only a white overcast of clouds. No warmth, only the bitterness of the cold waters and winds. I wandered the ocean for many years until reaching a tiny barren island where I would build a new world.
Was just thinking today of hiw alone I am. Think I may see bladerunner 2049 again, what a fantastic film. Economics is a bore as always. In the mood to write again, many I'll work on my old novel again.

...

I say bittersweet because I was very hopeful to try and return to college here in Peoria attempting to fulfill my malnourished desire for learning, and in turn educating. Management is a phenomenal experience to have on any application. But it's a dedication. Something I'll have to incorporate into my personal life from what I'd normally clearly define as my work life. And I strangely enjoy working at the diner as it serves all the classic Americana expected at a diner while I'll be learning how to cook it all. Not that's it's difficult. But I'd never bothered before, and I can do this at home now which is an enjoyable thought to me. But managing then blurs the line of personal and work life for that is the nature of the position. This could be dangerous for me if I attempt to return to school for there may be times where I need to study or be in class while work will demand my attendance at the same time. Internally school is more important in these scenarios. But realistically, the diner pays the bills. It's a difficult situation which I both dread and eagerly await as I bounce between anxieties and optimisms.

This is all very ideological though. Looming over my shoulder in the bowels of Peru is a massive pile of debt acquired from what is both a tragedy and a suicide--not to be mistaken as both tragedies, the suicide was very selfish. And before even the acquisition of this debt was the squandering of the financial aide previously attained from when I first tried the junior college experience at the only institution in Peru which was. I was nineteen at the time, and had a serious girlfriend which at the moment we were in our third year of being together. On top of that, the junior college was much of a joke. My first year of general educations, taken to get a taste for what might interest me, simply returned me down the halls of my highschool with some additional lighting, an extra classroom or two, and adults that weren't just teaching but learning as well. This place was not for me, I realized, it was for the wasted lives of Peru who finally understood a trade paid better than a factory; and the better pay for them meant finer booze and cartons instead of packs. Unfulfilled, unstimulated, and in love with a warm shell, I quickly failed out before the middle of my second year. My soul ached at this point. I did average in highschool because I was 'too smart' to simply follow rules and my mother had no money to support a flunky. A fissure was slowly forming in myself born of hatred at my wasted time. To medicate this, my friends introduced me to marijuana. But all this brewing fallout may be retouched upon down the line.
...

November 8th, 2014
Today mommy said that if I wasn't a good boy, she was going to cut my weewee off with a pair of scissors. I really didn't want her to cut my weewee off so I started crying really hard while she held the scissors up to it. I said, "please mommy I don't want you to cut it off" and she said "next time mommy has an itch, you scratch it, do you understand me". She doesn't mean those normal itches. My mommy gets special itches that she says she can't scratch herself. They are between her legs in this wet pink hole that has hair all around it. I tried to scratch it with my finger once and I wondered why mommy couldn't scratch it, since my fingers are shorter than hers. She said, "no, you don't scratch it like that" and she told me that I had to use the big finger that I had between my legs. "My weewee, mommy?" I asked. She said yes. I put my weewee into her hold and it felt good. I thought mommy was in pain because she kept groaning and making noises, but she said it was good and I should keep going. Eventually I felt so good that I ended up peeing up white stuff inside of the pink hole. I didn't know what it was, so I asked "mommy what is this white pee" and she said "it means you're mommy's special boy". Mommy always tells me I am her special boy and that I was sent down by angels because daddy was not a good man. I don't remember daddy at all. I like to think he was tall and strong. My mommy keeps asking me to scratch her itches and I think the scratching makes her lazy because mommy has been getting fatter lately. She went into my room yesterday and told me the stork was bringing me a baby sibling soon. I do not want a sibling. I want to be mommy's special boy.

I wonder if it is normal for other people's mommies? My 23rd birthday is next week and I am jealous because mommy keeps talking about my baby sibling.

November 8, 2017

remember to take out the trash
oh, and the garbage

>Quoting a shitty band in your poem
0/10 kys

From my blog stonerinastrangeland.blogspot.com

Hey what's up hello. You know, I attend a pretty big school. Tens of thousand of students from all across the world come to study here. It's a pretty diverse place, we got plenty of different kinds of people: Indians, Koreans, Hispanics, Blacks and a ton of people who speak that goat language. I got off the bus the other day and these two guys were standing outside my apartment complex just bhhaahhing at each other while pointing their fingers up and down my building. Meanwhile there's this small white girl standing behind them with her head bowed like she's in Iraq.

Have you heard of those cases where ordinary suburban white girls end up joining ISIS? That's a thing. I figured this was the same sort of situation. She just seemed to be under the complete subjugation of these two guys. When they started walking up towards the building she followed close behind keeping her head low, they didn't even acknowledgeher. It was really weird. I know what you're gonna say, "Bro, you were probably stoned so you were really paranoid." And you might be right about that however, you might also not be.

It's just one of those things that you wish you didn't have to think but sadly the human brain is a pattern recognition machine. The media has hypnotized me into believingthat this trio might be terrorists. Dude, after nine-eleven, this ethnic group became the villains in everything. All the kids that played CoD Four were being conditioned, man. Did you ever go to school with that one guy who was obsessed with the Army because he played so much Call of Duty? Cause I did. This guy would ask for, "rations" when he went over to someone's house, I'm not even lying. Some kids were probably more of a victim to it than others.

Before you judge me: what would be your reaction if you saw a woman wearing a full burka in a densely populated place in a place where burkas are very uncommon? If you think you wouldn't start running scenarios in your head you're a liar. Plain and Simple. That doesn't mean you're a racist though, it just means you're a victim of social engineering. Yes! aVictim:-)!

Anyway, I had trouble sleeping that night because I thought my building was gonna blow. But it's just one of those things, you know.

October 24th 2017
At work today I thought how my suicide would go.I though about how It would affect the people around me. Would Jacob shed a tear?(I hate this line now, but keep it for accuracy's sake) would Regin or Adam try to stop me? Probably Regin would. sad that someone that said they love me doesn't care. He probably said that to manipulate me. I think this was a game to him. Never should have cared this much Anyways Michael would be torn, probably would hit him the most.Maybe I'm too trapped in my head, maybe I should talk to someone, maybe,maybe,maybe.He treated me like a tool. I even fantasized about him. God what have I become? this will come back to back to me; I feel it.I cannot allow this to become me. I am user.Who is that? that short weird kid, who is either quiet or loud, who likes to create worlds of of his own. these entries are better when I ramble on, and have no particular single subject.I really have no future, nothing for me on this earth. I even grow tired of talking about it.I just want to end it, and have everyone move on with their lives.I am running out of room for these entries. I'll start on a random blank page and go from there.Hopefully this helps. I think it would be better if I read through them and see what I am saying. I had this dream the other night and I remembered what the special ed room looks like In either [name of elementary school] or [name of elementary school]. I miss those times. I was innocent like longing for the seconds before a hits you,and now I'm laying broken on the tracks, waiting to die.

re-reading this and writing it out is embarrassing. some of the things I say are fucking retarded

KYSSES YOU BACK

what the fuck

God damnit I'm writing again. It's maybe the third time this month, pathetic even that I try. Why would it matter anyways? It's clear that the whole thing was fucked from day one, I mean I remember going in thinking, "

Jesus, fucking, christ.
Every god damn day it just gets worse.
I got up the nerve to talk to my manager today about the plight of working class servitude, and how unfair it was to force people to not only subsist on minimum wage but also subpar hours.

"You can't honestly expect me to live like this," I told him.
He simply raised an eyebrow, and walked away. The proletariat dominates our society, and leaves nothing for us unfortunate few. The working class is a part of the problem as well I'm afraid. I'm a part of the 1%, not the top mind you, but the bottom percentage of society that is left with the carrion and scraps left over from the decaying corpses left to us by those in better positions.

For eons it has been this way, much in the same way Compsognathus had to wait for the T-rex's and Herbivorous monstrosities of their day to drop pieces of minced Anklesaur's and Leaves.

I called my parole officer after leaving work, and informed her of the atrocities that had been accosted to me by society, and how unfair it was that I had to report to her all because of a simple misunderstanding regarding a fire.

Yes, I set it. But my ex had assuredly cheated on me, and I could not guarantee the universe would grant her Karmic retribution for this atrocity and instead manners into my own hands.

She told me I should see my psychologist more often then I had been and asked me if I had been taking my pills.
I informed her I had (I hadn't) and re-initiated my flirtatious endeavors with her and alluded to the fact that I found her sufficiently attractive for intercourse.

As usual however, she offered little to no comment on this discourse and seemed to hurry in getting off the phone with me.

I give today a B+, comparatively to the last few months, it wasn't altogether miserable and I actually felt like I made some headway in convincing others as to what I really need out of my lot in life.

F
a psychopath would never ever keep a journal

I'm afraid my boy that I don't suffer from a lack of feelings, but rather an over abundance of them.

Which, while I would agree not entirely "normal" is quite the opposite of a psychopath.

you shouldn't fret: the neonate, in it's curious and worrisome existence, will help strengthen the abiding chain that which links a mommy to her special boy.

This was actually sort of good. I would read more of your stuff, user.

9/11/2017
greetings and salutations, it's another nice day. I managed to drink 500ml coffee. almost passed out later, my friends managed to stuff me with some fatty shit. good friends.
today was perfectly absurd, I felt like I was drunk all the time and world was going a bit to slow for me. my mind is racing, I focus only on small details but not on the bigger things.
his hair smell nice and her breasts are too big for my notice.
I smell like old lady's soap and really cheap coffee, which is not that bad considering that I smelled worse in past few days.
I hope I'll sleep today. full, scrumptious 8h of sleep. we will see

T-thanks

I have a massive document, hundreds of thousands of words of stream of consciousness collected over the year which I have been keeping this sort of diary (maybe I will edit it down some day but probably not). I post random unedited extracts in these threads sometimes (although that post was from last night)

I have somewhat of a problem in diary keeping in that I'm too lazy to actually coherently write about what is going on or what I'm feeling at the time in a way that makes any sense upon rereading. This means that by the time I'm old and my memory will start to fade, it will be a rather useless record of my teenage/young adulthood years, and perhaps feel more like an elaborate character portrait (not that this is a bad thing necessary) (but isn't the whole point of a diary to remember, like photographs?) (Diaries are better than photographs of course, because photos show things as they really are, and reality is worse than imagination always) (why am I concerned about this then)? Alas

Some of them read like something out of American Psycho, if Bateman was a lonely poor 20 year old psudeo who spent all day pontificating to himself. More like a Molloy in youth perhaps. Idk. In a way it's nice to have so many bad habits to write about and let air in anonymity.

m-more...

>Today I wasted another day shitposting on Veeky Forums about works that I've never read.
>No progress in reading or writing.
>Nothing else of note.
Excerpt out of my fictional diary desu

>Be me
>Kneeling beside her, poised over her body, I am massaging her neck.
>I have often massaged her in silence, the nape of her neck, the small of her back: I learned the technique from a fellow prisoner of war, little Clerc, a professional footballer, an expert in everything.
>But this time it's the front of her neck that I'm massaging. I place my two thumbs on the hollow of flesh round the top of the breastbone and, applying pressure, one thumb to the right, the other aslant to the left, I slowly reach the harder zone beneath the ears. I massage in a V.
>I feel a great muscular fatigue in my forearms; they ache whenever I give a massage.
>Helene's features are serene and motionless, her open eyes gazing up at the ceiling.
>And suddenly I'm terror- stricken: her eyes have glazed over as if for ever and a tiny portion of her tongue is visible, strange and calm, between her lips and her teeth.
>I've seen dead people before, to be sure, but never in my life have I seen the face of a strangled woman. I nevertheless know she's been strangled. But how? I stand up and I cry out, 'I've strangled Helene'

500ml? I drink close to a litre a day...

>And then I opened Veeky Forums and some faggot had made yet another circlejerk thread

August 3rd, 2015
Mommy told me last week that my baby sibling would be coming very soon. She is very fat now and she can't move very well, her tummy is huge. She kept trying to get me to name the baby but I said "isn't the stork supposed to do that mommy" and she laughed. She doesn't want me to scratch her itches any more but sometimes my weewee gets hard. At first I was scared to tell mommy but then she saw me hiding it and said it was OK. She took my peepee out and put it in her mouth. It felt really weird and warm but not as nice as the furry hole she has between her legs. I said "mommy, that is gross. My pee comes from there" but she kept licking my weewee until my white stuff came out in her mouth. She liked it and I said "does it taste good mommy?" I wanted to try some if it was good. She said "yes but it is just for mommy". Maybe she did not want me to get fat like her?

Oh! Right after I finished writing me and mommy had to rush to the hospital. She said the stork was bringing my baby sibling NOW!! I was so scared because she looked like she was hurting a lot. And I am sad because I did not get to see the stork bringing my baby sibling even though I still did not want a baby sibling. Mommy said the stork has to talk to her by herself. They talked and talked for a long time and I sat and waited. I hope my mom is not trying to get a black sibling from the stork. I want it to look like me at least.

After waiting a long time I went in to see my baby sibling. My mommy was so sad. I said, "what kind of baby did the stork bring you?" She was holding it in her arms. I think it was a girl because it was wrapped in pink and that is a girl's color. "Wow!" I said. "I can still be your special boy right mommy?" since the baby was not a boy. My mommy smiled and nodded but I could see she was still very sad. She was crying. "What is wrong mommy?" I said. She said the stork gave her a weak baby, it had a heart problem and couldn't breathe. We had to leave my baby sister at the hospital. I wanted to talk to her. I am still sad. When will my baby sister get to come home?

>i simply don't care for them and then once i see it happening or they tell me about they're emotion or pain i feel sorry for them, or annoyed because the solution can be so simple and it isn't my responsibility to make their decisions for them and i also would like to help solve their problems not because i want them to feel better but because i want to prove to myself that i am better

I dont remember writing this

I woke up today, so there's that. Wasted time at work and then on some shitty forum filled with degeneracy and weebs.

Where did it all go wrong? When will the sweet release of death take me in it's embrace?

>09/11/2017
>Saw a deer when I was out walking (Anons dogs name), it looked at me for a short moment then ran away.

That's all there is for today so far

My life feels like a dream. I move in and out day to day, yet nothing changes. I wish that I could finally choose left or right in this fork in the road that I've been at ever since adolescence, but instead I continue to move in circles forever in this encampment of the mind.

October 29th, 2015

Mommy has been really sad since the stork brought my baby sister. She still hasn't come back from the hospital. I want to see her. She looked very cute in the pink blankie. I did not even get to hug her or hold her. Mommy said that I couldn't. When we got back home I asked mommy what her name is, but mommy cried a lot and went to the bathroom and did not come out for a long time. She said I could not talk about my baby sister. I asked her why but she did not tell me. She said if I asked again she would cut my weewee off. I wanted to see her.

Mommy doesn't touch my weewee any more even though it gets hard. I guess she does not have itchies in her furry hole any more, or she does not think my white pee is tasty. I get frustrated. Sometimes I think about holding mommy down and itching her hole without her asking, but then I feel very bad because I am her good boy and good boys do not make their mommies cry on purpose. Maybe the stork will bring my sister to our house soon. I hope so! My birthday is next month and I would like it if the stork gave me my present. I want to be nice to her so I can be mommy's good and special boy.

January 10th, 2016

I didn't get my baby sister for my birthday and I was very sad. Mommy asked me why I didn't like the ps4 she got me and I told her. Then she cried a lot and said she couldn't do it anymore. "Do what, mommy?" I asked. She didn't say anything though.

Mommy is acting really weird. I saw her drink a bunch of that water she tells me not to drink. When I went to wake her up this morning she didn't get up.

... Mommy? Why aren't you moving? Why aren't you saying anything..? Mommy, I am hungry, I want to talk to you mommy. Please talk to me mommy.

yesterday i went outside with my momma's mason jar. caught a lovely butterfly. when i woke up today i looked in on my fairy pet. she had withered all away; no more sighing in her breast.

i'm sorry for what i did. i did what my body told me to. i didn't mean to do you harm.

every time i pin down what i think i want, it slips away. the ghost slips away.

Thu, Nov 9
Got tubs of butter and lard before bedder, making today a good day, thus far, anyhow; but, expect to die any moment, and say thank you very much to mother, that is for giving an egg to me, as writing in journal today may not be possible without her, and I'd thank father for the sperm if he were alive.