susannakirsteen
11-17-2014, 07:29 PM
I do not understand the people of today, all their odd phrases, and strange dooberries. It is just all too confusing, I liked it plain and simple: if I wanted to check the weather, I would walk outside, if I wanted to know what was going on in the world I would go down to the local bowls club and have a chat with Marvin and Carl. The good old days, you know?
If it was not for that bloody island I may understand these youths, grown older observing their bizarre tendencies, soaking it all up like a sponge and becoming ‘hip’. Unfortunately for me, I spent nearly ten years of my pathetic life wasting away like some piece rotting food, growing more and more mould by the second. Yep that was me alright, practically a blue and green soggy nightmare. Who likes boats anyway? Not me that’s for sure, what are they good for anyway? Seasickness? Crusty feet? Pruney fingers? If anything the island seemed like the best option if you were in my shoes.
I’ve been in such a cufuffle since I found my old diaries, or ‘a day in life of a sad sandy man’ as I used to call them, I was quite the joker in my day. They were so bleak and gloomy the lot of them, I do not know why I bothered.
I must say I have a chuckle reading them back, I was shocking with punctuation, oh, and not to mention my appalling spelling, not knowing the different between ‘desert’ and ‘dessert’ really is a shocker, here is a little tip, ‘dessert’ is just ‘stressed’ backwards, isn’t that nifty! The English language, such a funny thing, always playing tricks on you, much like Paul, he was a funny bugger… I apologise I seem to have lost my train of thought, I do that a lot, ten years on your own you mind tends to wonder.
As I was saying, my diaries, I found myself reflecting on the life I had lived, and the things I had achieved, and I found myself wondering what extravagant adventures I could have been on, or people I could have known If I hadn’t had wound up on such a pathetic excuse of a tropical paradise. What’s done is done now, but just imagine… I could have been prime minister, or an astronaut, or a world renowned scientist. I am sure I had some Nobel Prize worthy ideas lurking somewhere within the cobwebs of my brain.
I also have decided something, I like my own company. I just do not fit well with people, it is as if their pieces have changed over time and my puzzle remains the same, I simply cannot relate anymore. In fact I always had felt I was rather pathetic at keeping friends, I would either try too hard to be just like them, which always ended badly, or be myself… which was even worse. On the island I made coconut people on occasion, it’s comforting when you have no one else to turn to. They did not argue with my outlandish theories on how water was a government conspiracy, and that’s why everyone who drinks it eventually dies… Perhaps the island was better for me.
I have such vibrant memories of my days on the island, I named that place you know, ‘Pieland Island’, as it was round and cooked you right through the middle. I’ll never forget all the days I spent feeling sorry for myself… ‘Why me?’ ‘Why not Marvin or Carl?’ Sure they were far more talented than me, my edges were more jagged, and my aspirations not as thrilling, but I think I was… slightly above average in some things. Not many, but some. I was pretty good at making a spear out of some fallen branches and a few stones, or creating a shelter out of some vines and some washed up tarp.
When I was eventually found, I had a beard as dry and brittle as hay, and hair that stretched half way down my back, I looked like a right Muppet, If only my mother had seen me then, she would have had a fit and probably keeled over right then and there. I often wondered how mum was doing up there. Hopefully heaven has a plentiful supply of white wine and blankets, perhaps she’s even swapped poetry tips with A.A Milne.
I just hope when I die, I am not remembered as that odd bloke who got lost at sea and became a hermit, even though that’s what I am essentially. No one really saw what else I had to offer I suppose, but I am telling you now, there’s plenty up there, and it’s definitely not all rubbish. If I died tomorrow, there is only one thing I would go back and tell my younger self: dessert is simply stressed spelled backwards. Oh, and sailing just isn't for you.
If it was not for that bloody island I may understand these youths, grown older observing their bizarre tendencies, soaking it all up like a sponge and becoming ‘hip’. Unfortunately for me, I spent nearly ten years of my pathetic life wasting away like some piece rotting food, growing more and more mould by the second. Yep that was me alright, practically a blue and green soggy nightmare. Who likes boats anyway? Not me that’s for sure, what are they good for anyway? Seasickness? Crusty feet? Pruney fingers? If anything the island seemed like the best option if you were in my shoes.
I’ve been in such a cufuffle since I found my old diaries, or ‘a day in life of a sad sandy man’ as I used to call them, I was quite the joker in my day. They were so bleak and gloomy the lot of them, I do not know why I bothered.
I must say I have a chuckle reading them back, I was shocking with punctuation, oh, and not to mention my appalling spelling, not knowing the different between ‘desert’ and ‘dessert’ really is a shocker, here is a little tip, ‘dessert’ is just ‘stressed’ backwards, isn’t that nifty! The English language, such a funny thing, always playing tricks on you, much like Paul, he was a funny bugger… I apologise I seem to have lost my train of thought, I do that a lot, ten years on your own you mind tends to wonder.
As I was saying, my diaries, I found myself reflecting on the life I had lived, and the things I had achieved, and I found myself wondering what extravagant adventures I could have been on, or people I could have known If I hadn’t had wound up on such a pathetic excuse of a tropical paradise. What’s done is done now, but just imagine… I could have been prime minister, or an astronaut, or a world renowned scientist. I am sure I had some Nobel Prize worthy ideas lurking somewhere within the cobwebs of my brain.
I also have decided something, I like my own company. I just do not fit well with people, it is as if their pieces have changed over time and my puzzle remains the same, I simply cannot relate anymore. In fact I always had felt I was rather pathetic at keeping friends, I would either try too hard to be just like them, which always ended badly, or be myself… which was even worse. On the island I made coconut people on occasion, it’s comforting when you have no one else to turn to. They did not argue with my outlandish theories on how water was a government conspiracy, and that’s why everyone who drinks it eventually dies… Perhaps the island was better for me.
I have such vibrant memories of my days on the island, I named that place you know, ‘Pieland Island’, as it was round and cooked you right through the middle. I’ll never forget all the days I spent feeling sorry for myself… ‘Why me?’ ‘Why not Marvin or Carl?’ Sure they were far more talented than me, my edges were more jagged, and my aspirations not as thrilling, but I think I was… slightly above average in some things. Not many, but some. I was pretty good at making a spear out of some fallen branches and a few stones, or creating a shelter out of some vines and some washed up tarp.
When I was eventually found, I had a beard as dry and brittle as hay, and hair that stretched half way down my back, I looked like a right Muppet, If only my mother had seen me then, she would have had a fit and probably keeled over right then and there. I often wondered how mum was doing up there. Hopefully heaven has a plentiful supply of white wine and blankets, perhaps she’s even swapped poetry tips with A.A Milne.
I just hope when I die, I am not remembered as that odd bloke who got lost at sea and became a hermit, even though that’s what I am essentially. No one really saw what else I had to offer I suppose, but I am telling you now, there’s plenty up there, and it’s definitely not all rubbish. If I died tomorrow, there is only one thing I would go back and tell my younger self: dessert is simply stressed spelled backwards. Oh, and sailing just isn't for you.