Diary Entry from May 15, 1998

(I just have a couple more of these diary notes I found earlier this year during COVID-19 boredom)

Watched a TV commercial tonight.  I’ve seen it before — a new Trans-Am drives up behind a Camaro and “eats” it, leaving behind a metal shell.  The Trans-Am looks shiny black, tough, and powerful.  Anyone who drives such a muscle car is powerful and nobody can withstand such a person!  

My husband said I should have a Trans-Am.  I decided, no.  “Muscle cars” only give a human the illusion, the fantasy of being powerful and strong.  They only make us “feel” power.  In reality, we have no real power.  We can’t even control our own bowel movements!  Why play charades with illusions?

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Diary Entry May 14, 1998

(Here’s an entry from my diary way back when)

Lying in bed, fighting sinus blockage, thinking about my totally unhealthy diet for the day, I became philosophical.  My right leg keeps wanting to go to sleep which probably means that I have diabetes from all the cookies I ate, the soda pop, the greasy homemade pizza, the grill cheese and ham sandwich at lunch, the bacon and eggs for breakfast.  I deserve to get diabetes or cancer or obesity.  I deserve acid reflux problems, insomnia, sinus blockage.  I’m always loading myself up with caffeine, sugar, and fat and I deserve what I get.  I know better!  No willpower. Lazy. Lustful of food.  I know to exercise, but I do very little.  Therefore, I resign myself to accept the consequences because I love the food I eat!  Yet…

When the consequences have come.  When I’m feverish or throwing up, or having the Big “D” (intestinal “d”), getting dehydrated, or suffering with hives, pimples, or shingles, gaining weight (the list is long), I find myself begging God to heal me—let this pass—I’LL NEVER DO WHAT I DID AGAIN—I PROMISE!  So…

I get well in due time.  Before a few days have passed, I’m at it again.  Memory fades.  Pain is in the past. Hey, I can handle the results of abusing myself.

My problem Is not unlike the story of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16.  The rich man lived it up until death, and in torment he begged and pleaded to Abraham to relieve him, rescue him.  In the same way, I need to do what is right BEFORE it is too late, not after.

Pizza Vs Patience

Did our grocery shopping, frozen foods in the cooler with ice,

then picked up a lunch splurge—East of Chicago pepperoni pizza.

Laid it on the back seat, hoping it would stay hot

on the short way home, but

we managed to get behind Moses and the Israelites

wandering through their third year in the wilderness

in the form of a minivan, then it turned off, but

we found the Israelites in their eleventh year

in the form of a rookie grain hauler that beat us at a light.

Eventually, the hauler pulled over, letting a bunch of us pass

and we then got behind the Israelites in their 35th year

in the form of an SUV that must have been lost.

All this time…the large pizza wafted it’s delicious fragrance

into our olfactory senses, driving us insane until finally

the Israelites pulled aside to let a bunch of cars pass and

we made it home, squealed into the garage, shoved all the

cold food in the freezer or fridge, and then

pizza

The Juicer

My sister said, “I thought I had enough juice in my cell-phone not to have to put it in the juicer last night, but this morning I found I was wrong…”

It took me a couple seconds to figure out what “juicer” meant. 

(July 25, 2020, Covid-19 Year)

Terrors for Tutti and Tam

(Friday morning, July 17, 2020)

We haven’t bought paper plates in years, but with the 2020 pandemic virus, we can’t eat in our favorite restaurants, and eating in the car is messy, so, to protect the car, we bought a bag of heavy paper plates.

Now, this morning, the parakeet and I were alone.  I played online tablet games, sitting in the electric easy chair, while Tutti perched fluffy on my free finger and gazed at me adoringly (I assume adoringly).

A shocking crash bang clatter happened and then a heavy thud, thud sound.  Tutti flapped off squawking, while I had to wait idiotically as the electric easy chair slowly. lowered. the. foot. rest.  Still alive, I hopped out of the chair and carefully eyeballed the kitchen, no one.  Hands ready to deal killing blows, I slid over to the basement stairwell, nothing, then down the stairs, no one.  I warily opened the garage door, nothing out of place.  Okay, no Horrible Rioters or Vikings.

Back in the kitchen, I scanned the area again and noticed our bag of bottled water on the floor, like normal, but just beyond it lay the bag of heavy paper plates.  I deduced from the evidence that if it had rolled out of the cabinet (it’s stored on its side due to lack of room), it would have landed on the water bottles and then thudded onto the floor.  I straightened things up, so extremely grateful it hadn’t been vile assailants..