March 23 2016

I wish I had some kind of superpower some times. All the stuff that goes on in the world, all the bad things, all the bad people. Nobody ever can do anything about it. The bad guys on all the sides keep winning, and it makes me crazy that I can’t do anything about it.

Leigh says I shouldn’t worry so much about the rest of everybody. I don’t know how to not worry. She thinks I only can live one life and I should live that one life all the way to the top of it. I don’t even know what that means. She says weird stuff sometimes. She made really good scallup potatoes yesterday. They were all juicy and crunchy, exactly the way I like them.

I wish I knew how to cook. It looks really hard. How do you know when something’s done and when things taste good. What if someone that your cooking for thinks your food tastes really bad. Leigh’s food is always really good. She cooks the best stuff every night.

I said yesterday I’m glad I don’t have kids because the world’s so scary. I thought about that alot today. I’m still glad I don’t have kids, but if anyone was going to be the ┬ámom of my kids, I’m happy it would be Leigh. She’d be a really good mom.

Bye, journal.

March 22 2016

I don’t really feel like writing anything today. Leigh says I should write what I feel, but I don’t know how I feel. Mad. Sad. All the things.

It’s days like this I’m glad we don’t have kids. Kids growing up in a world like this would be scary. Everyone’s always mad. About everything.

I have to work now. Feels stupid going to work. Kind of like I’m not being respectable to the people that are dead.


March 21 2016

Day number two. This is still stupid. I tried to talk to a couple of people on here. Leigh said it might be good to look at other people’s things and talk to them. I tried it. I don’t know if they even look at that stuff. It just all seems kind of fake.

I have to work today. That’s okay. I like work. Leigh made porridge, but boiled it too long. I still ate it. I put maple syrup and frozen blueberries in it. And I had coffee.

Leigh felt all bad for wrecking the porridge. I don’t care. She works really hard. I don’t know how to make porridge. My cooking is toast and I make good spaghetti.

I don’t know what else to say. I sat on here for half an hour thinking of words to say. What if I want to change my words on an old one. Or what if I want to read them all again one day and find out I missed a day because of work or someone’s funeral or because i forgot or something. Leigh says I should write about things that bug me or make me mad or make me sad or the world or politics and stuff. I don’t really know politics except for I should vote when I have to.

One thing that bugs me is when I have to lift up the top of the back of toilet and pull that little white handle thing on the inside up to make the toilet stop running. I always get my hand wet and I don’t like touching that water because it’s toilet water and I might get sick.

Okay. I have to work now. Bye, journal.

March 20 2016

I don’t know what to write. I don’t know how to write. Leigh just said I should start this so I’m not so cranky all the time. I don’t feel like I’m cranky. Maybe pissy sometimes. I don’t know.

How do you even start these things? Dear diary. Dear journal. Dear bloggy thing. Leigh says I should just write what comes out, and put it on google so my family can read it if I want them to. I don’t know if I even want them to. Maybe they can one day. I don’t know how to do that, though. Maybe Leigh does. I could ask her. She knows this stuff. Computers and blogs. That stuff.

Okay. What do you put in this. Do people just write their feelings? Like stuff that pisses them off and things Leigh does that makes me crazy? She does make me crazy. But she also doesn’t make me crazy. Mostly not crazy. Is that what you write? Do those things go in this.

Every day for a year. Leigh says one day at a time. What if I get busy one day and don’t do my writing that day? Does the whole thing not count? I should of just got some paper and pens and wrote it long form. But then only I could read it. My writing’s bad. It looks like doctor writing. So maybe this is the best way.

This is stupid. I don’t know what to write. Leigh’s making coffee. I can smell it. I like coffee. And that french vanilla stuff. Maybe I’ll do this again tomorrow. I think. I work tomorrow, so I prolly won’t have time.

Okay. Bye, journal.