The exercise:
Let us discuss: the diary.
We got lucky with the weather this morning, as there was only a light drizzle for part of the time we were out in the garden. It was pretty nice to only do about half our usual harvest, even if it meant sacrificing our one full day off.
This afternoon I went to my doctor's office to get my head checked out. And not because I am crazy! Honest.
No, it was because a block of wood fell on it last night. (Don't ask. It's a stupid setup we have at our produce cooler that is now, well past time, going to be changed) Caught me just above my right ear, which, due to location and hair, makes seeing the wound clearly really difficult. I knew it bled a bit last night and had scabbed over by this morning, but I wanted to make sure I didn't need stitches and to make sure it was cleaned properly.
The doctor said it was more of an abrasion than a cut, and that the cause of the bleeding was likely a nicked artery. So all's well, and now I'm all up to date with my tetanus shots.
And my left arm hurts more than my head does.
Mine:
Dear Diary,
I don't understand what's going on. At all.
The love of my unlife has locked himself in the bathroom and is refusing to come out. He won't answer any of my questions, he refuses to listen to reason. Maybe, after all these years, he's lost his mind?
It's the not knowing that's eating me up inside. Well, maybe a few stray maggots as well. But you know what I mean!
If I knew what was wrong, I could fix it. This relationship can be saved, but only if I can see what the problem is. Surely he understands that! So why won't he speak with me?
I can think of nothing that I've done that might have caused this mental breakdown. Perhaps that means it has nothing to do with me. But then, what does it have to do with?
Or, more infuriatingly, who?
Something more is going on here, Diary. I intend to find out what. And when I do, there will be a reckoning.
Eternally yours,
Death
