Aug the Twenty-Second
“If it was your friend, you oughtn’t to have set it on me.”
Fuckin’ Roland of Gilead, ‘man. Stephen fuckin’ King. I don’t yet have an answer to satiate yesterday’s curiosity; for some reason I thought I could read over five hundred pages today, but that’s just not go’n’a happen. Especially with my brain still hazy like it is.
Fuck, I just made it real. I haven’t been sleeping for shit. I wake up multiple times throughout the night dripping so much sweat that when I finally go to clean my sheets (which I’m not doing until the night sweats stop, whenever that might be, because it would be pointless and a waste of water and detergent) my mattress is going to be the yellow of sickness. I can’t think in a straight line without getting clocked over the head by intrusive thoughts of suicide and depression and anxiety and other pointless distractions of the like and I have no patience for my parents and I still haven’t turned my phone on, I haven’t left the house for the sake of the Man Jesus! Why the fuck am I not smoking my weed, we all know How Albey Gets When He Doesn’t Get To Smoke His Weed!!!!!! I had zero appetite for a few days but now I’m so hungry all the time that I’ve been nibbling on notebook paper and… oh, what’s that? You don’t believe that I’ve been eating paper, Journal? Hah, so I was right about you. You’re trig, me cully. Right trig.
I forget how many days into this I am. Could it have been a week already? It feels like I’ve been in Mid-World all my life; I had a moment today where I couldn’t remember the name of my town. It’s Logger’s Pond, just so I can write it and remember it better, but still. When I first thought about it, the word “Tull” came to mind. When I started smoking weed I was one of those guys who was like, “It’s not a drug, it’s an upgrade for your brain! There are no drawbacks to using, no withdrawals if you quit for some asinine reason, it’s just plain h E a L t H y to smoke weed!”
God I’m a fucking moron.
I’ll be right back, I need to go feel the grass on my feet.
… … …
I flipped back a few entries. It has been five days since I stopped smoking, five days since the man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed. And they say time flies when you’re having fun… well they’re probably right. I love this series and there’s literally nothing else I would rather do at this point in my life than read these books again, but I am NOT having fun with this “no smoking weed” thing. I guess it’ll be worth it, though. We’ll see.
Thank you, Journal. I appreciate you being here so I can rant and get this shit out of my head. Albey the Mad Poet would actually be insane if it wasn’t for you, and that’s word to Sidney Blake. Good sleeps and good dreams; at least one of us should have them~
Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Untitled Bigfoot Project and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here.
Be well Commons~