I have come to the conclusion that I was born under the new and as yet undiscovered astrological sign of FUBAR. No, I have no idea what it’s symbol would be. I suppose it’d be kind of hard to recognize since FUBAR actually means F’ed Up Beyond All Recognition. I suppose I could put a picture of me there and call it done.
What do you mean, “That works.”????? You’re my diary–you’re supposed to be on my side! You’re supposed to help me work through issues, not create new ones that I’ll bring up next when next I’m lounging on the therapist’s couch! Whining? How can you say I’m whining? You were whining just last night when I wouldn’t thwack you against the desk again. Oh puhleeze–begging, whining–same difference.
Note to Self (written on a slip of paper hastily stuffed into my bag): Do NOT purchase next diary from bargain bin.
What was on that note? Oh nothing… um, uh, so, um, do you wanna know why I think I was born under the sign of FUBAR? *whew* Great, because it makes sense. I mean when you’re born under the sign of… let’s say Aries… then on average you may (or may not) act Aries-ish and display ram-like traits in your everyday life. (I agree, I don’t think Aries-ish is a word either, but I’m going with it.)
Hello? Anyone there?
*Argh* I know you’re there. You can’t hide from me. No, I don’t sound like a stalker in a B film. I’m a momentarily thwarted writer who’s avoiding household chores in favor of self prescribed torture with a diary.
Soooo? Do you think I could have been born under the sign of FUBAR? What do you mean you decline to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate you? There’s nothing to incriminate! You are me and I am you! Oh for crying out loud… look all I’m asking for is a rational explanation to why the FUBAR theme keeps popping up in my life. No, I did not say Poobah or Pooh Bear–I said FUBAR! I’m asking you because I’m trying to get this notion out of my head and off my plate so I can get to what I’m supposed to be doing–WRITING!
I’ll shout if I want to and–what do you mean, “Write what I know?” I know what I’m writing and what I’m saying is–well, crappity-crap-crap-CRAP.
That’s it. We’re done for today.
Nope, I’m good. I got what I needed. Good talk–we’ll have to do it again later. Yep, that’s right–I’m off to share the pain with two characters in my next book and show them exactly what it means to have a FUBAR day.