Dio's Secret Public Journal ( Archived) (321)

Dear Journal,

I cried the other day. I was reading a magazine article about a Polish railway worker who slipped into a coma that lasted more than fifteen years. He woke up to find he had missed the collapse of communism in his country, the end of apartheid, and the births of eleven grandchildren.

The part that made me all misty was the endless devotion of his wife Gertruda, who kept the constant vigil at his side, caring for him when he was denied hospital care because the physicians had determined his case hopeless. She fought a lonely war against the inevitable deterioration of her husband's body.

Journal, I'm talking about years...YEARS...of continuous care, nearly twenty...never leaving her husbands side for longer than a few minutes...believing...when no one else would, not Doctors, not even family, that somewhere within the motionless, shriveling body, her husband was still there...believing each day, that it would be the day he would return to her.

Now the Rip Van Winkleness of this man's story is interesting in itself Journal. And the dedication of his wife, is inspirational, especially to a guy like me who has been abandoned by nearly every woman he ever cared about. I'm not gonna lie Journal, I cried.

Allright...

Take it easy Journal

Hello Journal,

Are you in to introspection? I have been for the last couple of years. I've still got alot to learn though Journal. So I've been doing some reading. It's sometimes hard to find anyone to talk about these things with Journal. Alot of people find this kind of thing to be Kooky, when you get to talking about suppressed emotional states and what not.

So when you're doing these kinds of things Journal, it's supposed to be good for you, but initially it doesn't feel good. We are talking about uncovering emotional states that society has trained us to avoid all our lives. Then some wacko with a book tells you that you must be "real" and integrate these suppressed emotions into your consciousness.

Journal, first the rappers in the 90's were telling me to "keep it real", now new age self-help gurus...who's next?

I know it sounds like I'm mocking, but really I'm just trying to be light hearted, and cheer myself up. Or, perhaps my mockery is a manifestation of the ego trying to protect itself from spiritual enlightenment or something. I don't know.

Later Journal

whatever!

I think introspection in a diary would
be impossible.

Dear Journal,

Do you want to know what I miss? I miss having a wedding ring on my finger. I do.

Now Journal, I'm not trying to say that I miss my ex or anything like that. I do miss having a ring on though. I miss what it symbolizes, and I miss that social status.

I'm starting to get to the age where it isn't cute to be a bachelor anymore. Although I'm not sure if I technically qualify as a bachelor since I'm divorced...Why don't you look that up for me Journal? Does bachelor refer to any single male, or only never been marrieds?

A weeding ring is a symbol of commitment, the shape of the ring is circular which in many ancient cultures was a symbol of eternity. The circle has no beginning or end, like time. Also, it returns to itself as life does. The hole in the center of the ring is a representation of a gateway to places both known and unknown.

When I was married I took a lot of pride in the fact that I never removed my ring. After being divorced, initially the sight of my bare third finger on the left hand would move me to tears.

You think that's sissified Journal? That's not sissified, it's sentimental and romantic.

Now if I can find a woman that reveres that symbol of commitment as just as much....

I thought you were supposed to hook me up with some of your hot girlfriends Journal, what's up with that?

Ha'luego Journal

Diogenes!

You should publish this!

Dear Journal,

You know I love Subway sandwiches right...So, I'm in the Subway tonight, I had rode with some other guys on the crew I work with. They're off shopping elsewhere, so I'm just gonna grab myself a yummy sub real quick right...Wrong!

I stand there waiting for several very long minutes, expecting to see the rest of the guys loading up in the truck shouting for me to hurry or something. So this multi-racial looking, really hadsome looking kid comes over to make the sub. I could tell this kid took his sandwich art seriously as he very slowly, and meticulously placed together the cold cut combo.

Now I'm not griping about that part Journal. In fact, I rather appreciated that he didn't just flop it together. Journal, do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone at Subway who understands just what "A LITTLE BIT" of mayonaisse and yellow mustard means? I'm serious Journal. I've experimented with every combination of clearly articulated, and simple words that I can think of: a small amount, just a little, a tiny bit, just barely enough for me to taste it, etc. etc. Only to watch the lesser Sandwich Art School students sputter the stuff on until it oozes out the sides when they close the sandwich up, and then look surprised, and sometimes hurt when I say something like..."Is that what you call a little bit?"

No, this kid took his time, and gave me what I asked for. I cannot fault him for that at all. But, here's the thing. After the initial wait, and the next pleasant interim of observing the Sub Maestro's fine craft. This big fat lady jumps ahead of me in line, and tells the cashier, "Hi, I just wanna buy a ten dollar gift card." So okay, she just wants a gift card, what's the big deal, right Journal? Wrong!

"Oh yeah, that'll be ten dollars...Thank you very much." The cashier hands her a card, and....

"What? Oh, that's the card? Oh... Is that the only one you have? I thought they looked different.... Can I see the other ones? Oh, that one's too Christmasy... That one has cucumbers on it, gross... Oh, I guess I like this one..."

The cashier stood there for a moment dumbfounded, I could already see the thoughts perculating in her mind. But, she doesn't say what she's thinking, she's in denial. "Sooooo, would you like to put another ten dollars on this card then?"

I told you she was in denial Journal. Deep down inside she knew what was coming.

"Can't you just put the money from the one card onto the other?"

The cashier's thoughts were no longer perculating. They were boiling out through her eyeballs Journal. Her lips were closed but her face clearly and almost audibly said, "You have got to be freakin' kidding right? Do you have any idea how impossible it is to get money off that card without making a purchase?"

Well I guess the customer is supposed to be always right, so the cashier did the diplomatic thing, and faked it. She pretened to mash buttons, and swipe the card, knowing that once that money is on there, Subway isn't going to let it go, neither in cash, nor electronic transfer for the mere whim of the big, fat, inconsiderate, cut in line lady. Nope! Those funds are now only payable in fresh baked loaves, cold cuts, chips, soup, or soda.

Still she trys to appease the lady, and shoots me a look of exasperation, and apology. Which is followed by a look of disdain from fatty. As if her indifference toward me weren't already apparent, and needed to be clarified. The Maestro stood smirking in the background, as if he were smugly grateful within himself. As if he knew this was a temporary station in life, and he was somehow above vending deli meats, and prepaid sandwich credit cards. Or maybe he was just grateful that he wasn't the one having to placate fatty.

Sigh

Anyway....

Ms. Cutinline, huffed away with the original card as if she were terribly inconvenienced, and I nearly finished the yummy sub before the other guys got to the truck.

Thanks Journal

5.....5 dollar....5 dollar foot long....

Hey Journal,

I seen this freak, the freak was on,
But when I turned around, that freak was gone.
I went on home, I put my key in the door,
And found that same old freak was lying on the floor.

She started to go into my pants,
And then she told me that she wants to do the freak dance.
So I didn't try to stop her,
'Cause that would have been on the wack.
She said, "You've got a thang like a Whopper, but it tastes just like a Big Mac!"