T’is the season. Its actually been here since early September. It came very abruptly. One day it was summer, the next it was fall. I find it funny that nobody talks about it though. They love to talk about the day-to-day weather, but I never hear one remark about the seasons changing. I think people like to focus on the negative too much, too. The only people that bring up the weather are the ones that complain about the cold or complain about the heat, though there are certainly those that say “what lovely weather we’re having!” I don’t understand the complaint because at least we aren’t on Mars where its awful there. At least we aren’t in Florida where its gators and hurricanes. At least we don’t have wild fires or tornados or tropical storms or earthquakes. It is quite lovely here really. The changing of the seasons makes me appreciate each one for what it is. It forces me to take advantage of the summer before it gets too cold to do the things that can only be done during summertime. Perhaps not everybody thinks in the negative way I think they might, though. I like to appreciate my surrounding environment, for if I cannot appreciate where I am, how can I begin to appreciate anything else in my life. My circumstances put me on my path, just as yours do, and I must work with them as they come. I must adapt myself to the cold or the heat or I will be nowhere. Say I were to stop all advances in the winter.. This would put me behind come spring and I will have lost time off my life ultimately. Why lose time when I can suffer a little bit in the cold and accomplish what it is I want to accomplish. What is it I want to accomplish you ask? nothing in particular, but I want that window to remain open at all times (not literally its too cold out). Seasonal depression is weird too. Stop thinking that everything is going to be great all the time. Lower your standards and maybe you will smile for once. Things are great if you want them to be only. Very Subjective. The snow is cool, sunburns are cool, the mushy brown grass in March is cool, and the dead leaves blowing across the road in October that you think for a second might be a frog or chipmunk are cool. Its all good stuff. Where do the bugs go when it snows anyway? Do they lay eggs underground and die? Do they fly south? Sometimes in the woods when it snows there are these tiny black flies that chill out in the snow. I’d like to know more about those guys.
Last night before I went to sleep I had to pee but didn’t out of sheer laziness. I like to challenge my body and exercise my soft muscle tissue by holding it in when I can, so that I can perform when the time really comes and I desperately need to go #1 but can’t just yet. Nighttime Gary will do anything to not be bothered, even if it means screwing over morning Gary.
I went to sleep with what was not yet a full bladder, but I definitely know enough about my body that I knew it would be full before morning came. Sure enough, 5am rolls around and I wake up ready to burst as I had predictably ignored and ignored predictably. Though this was expected, I did not expect the crazy dreams that my brain conjured to alert me to the urgency.
As a little kid, if I had a dream in which I was peeing, it meant that I would be waking up in a puddle and it was already too late by the time I realized that I was pee-dreaming. Now in my more controllable state of mind, my brain and body have a better relationship, so I was able to wake myself up during a pee dream on time and as follows was my series of three dreams that alerted me to my waking needs, each more intense than the last.
I was on my way back to school with all of my clothes and things, but just before my dad and I left the driveway, I went inside the house to pee. This dream was the full deal of me doing a regular #1 no different than usual. This was not hint enough for me to wake up.
After the tank was emptied from that dream, I was ready to leave, when the sudden feeling of a full bladder came to me yet again for the next dream. I thought this was weird but just went to work at it anyway. This time I was not going in the toilet, but all over my shoes. I have a shoe rack with six varying pairs of footwear in real life that I was wetting all over in my dream and I could not do anything about it. This was not hint enough to me still.
Third dream was me putting my pants back on after dream two, getting in the car, and driving off to school. On the way there, my dad took a strange turn which led us through the snowy woods with a frozen lake approaching in the distance. Panic started to set in, and of course as dreams go he would not respond to me, becoming eerily robotic and silent. Sure enough, he drives out onto the ice, which is thin, but does not immediately break through. About half way out into the lake, the ice stops but he keeps driving. “Its okay” he whispered. I was calm while we nose dived in slow motion into the ice water. I opened the passenger side door as quickly as possible. I worried momentarily about my belongings in the back seat soon to be destroyed, and I worried about why my dad went whack so unexpectedly, but my main focus quickly shifted to my father who was not moving from the seat despite his impending cold doom. I was now in the freezing water, and the car was halfway sunk, but he, though alive and well, was still not moving. Only then did I become so scared that I woke up and admitted defeat to my own bladder.
this is a very new thing I am going to try. I assume not many people will land here, which is ideal really. If you got here it means that you know me, so hello and thanks for being here!
I think this website will be a good way to get off of social media, whose grasp on me has become increasingly harder to escape. This shall serve as a platform for me to update future gary on present and past gary, so that if I or my descendants want to know how I was before I went insane, they can find me.
I like the idea of being able to post pictures and words of anything I want without conforming to any aesthetic, norms, or expectations because probably only maybe 10 people will ever visit here.
NOT A DIARY ITS A JOURNAL