There was a clock on the wall, but I guess the batteries quit, so I have no idea what time it is. If I had to guess, I'd say it's around 9-ish. Elliot and I have been trying to pa** the time sharing good memories that we've had, reminiscing on the normal days. Remember how yesterday I said okay days turn to wonderful days after a few bad ones? Exactly. Those normal sit-and-watch-the-paint-on-the-wall-dry days are like Christmas now. It worked, but it's horrible. Once you open your eyes and realize reality for what it is again, you feel that much deeper in your own grave of misery. I let him tell me most of the stories to keep his mind distracted from the hunger. We ran out of cookies today, but the milk in the cappuccino machines hasn't gone completely sour yet, and we're making the best of it. He's been doing a good job of keeping his complaints to himself, and I love him that much more because of that. All it takes is a zombie pill epidemic to mature a ten-year-old. Dr. Phil would love to hear about this. I should write and tell him.
I remembered that today's my friend Julian's birthday. He probably doesn't have any cake to eat right now, huh? If he does, he better share some of it. “No candles this year, Julian, so blow out the raging fire that's engulfed the looted buildings.” I hope he's safe and hasn't turned into one of “them.” That would be sad. I like to think that everyone I used to know is still sane and hiding somewhere like I am, maybe scribbling in an old notebook they found in the streets. I really hope so. Wishful thinking, I suppose.
I didn't go outside today in fear that I would throw up what little food I have left in my stomach because of the sights out there, and because I feel a little weaker than yesterday. My clothes feel looser, too. I'm not surprised. “Try our Thytrizamine zombie invasion weight loss program. Guaranteed to make you lose ten pounds in ten days or your money back.” I was trying to be funny. Forced laughs don't seem as enjoyable as the real ones anymore. If I ever truly laugh again, I think it'll be because of Elliot or insanity. I really, really hope it'll be because of Elliot.
Insert heavy sigh here. Life is just a bowl of cherries, right? I wouldn't mind eating those cherries right now, seed and all. There I go thinking about food again.
I keep hearing the sickening howls of the Thy-Trips outside. Whatever they're doing, I hope they stop soon. I hope a lot of things, I guess. Hoping never hurt anyone, did it? I've been thinking about it (to keep my mind off of food, too), and I might call this journal The Hopebook. It has a ring to it, don't you think? A notebook that's full of hopes and unperceivable wishes. Wish one: I really wish I had that bowl of cherries.
Happy birthday, Julian, wherever you are. Shia.