May 16th

hash_brownToday I bought a coffee from Bangin’ Bagels in a white styrofoam cup. It came with a removable quiz on the side, the question on which was ‘What color is the sky?’ In lieu of the answer option ‘depends’, I chose ‘blue’ and found I had won a number of ‘hash browns’. I do not know what a ‘hash brown’ is, but now I have six of them waiting for me at the nearest Bangin’ Bagels location. I will bring a grocery bag with me in case they are too large to easily carry. I am excited for my prize.

The coupon expires in 2 years time, so I have some time to decide which location I will go to to redeem my prize, but it will most likely be the same one I purchased the coffee from as it is on the way to work.

Bangin’ Bagels coffee is not the same as Bob, my former colleague’s coffee. It tastes like milk mixed with soil and the cup is too big for my hands.

I saw a quote today . It said ‘Dream big dreams. Small dreams have no magic.’

I don’t like any kind of dreams. Small dreams, such as remembering to buy more toilet paper before I run out, make me short of breath. Big dreams, like actually going to that book club I signed up for, or changing my bus route to work, make me want to sit down for an hour and wait until the room stops spinning.

I wonder if my goldfish Kenneth would consider eating a ‘hash brown’ instead of Spam. I’m not sure. Besides, it might not fit in his bowl. I considered searching on the internet for what a ‘hash brown’ actually is, but I have decided to wait and make it a surprise.

January 26th

tennis ballI really miss drinking Bob’s coffee.

I have a tension headache that feels like someone has inserted a tennis ball inside my head between my brain and my skull. I have taken twelve pain relievers so far and nothing has helped.

I am having difficulty remembering things. I got on the wrong bus today, twice, and forgot my lunch.

I have no idea what could be causing the headache. Perhaps I have a tumor. My Great Aunt Clementine had a tumor in her elbow. At least she said she did. Every time I asked her, the tumor had changed places. There was always something wrong with Great Aunt Clementine. She lived to be 94 and died in her sleep. When I was ten, my Great Uncle Pete explained to me that Great Aunt Clementine was just fine. However, because she had always snored, as he described, like ‘a mating rhinoceros‘ and kept him awake, he had gotten her back by constantly telling her for 40 years that she was probably ‘coming down with something’ and ‘looked a little off’, so much so, that she believed him and was a hypochondriac.

Great Uncle Pete was not a nice man.

He died of a tumor.