The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

What did he say then?

ENT said: Are you around people that have trouble swallowing?
I said: Well, yes I was working in neurology.
ENT said: Sometimes the deficits of others creep into our minds and we take on symptoms. Have you been to see a psychologist?
I said: For what?

I thought: Does he think I have a Dick Sucking Disorder? Is that described in the DSM-IV?

 

[sweepthefloor]

The Resident Flirt and The Attending Controller: Intensive Care Unit.

It’s almost time for the resident popularity contest at work. The future talent with the boyish grin reminds me to vote for him.
He says: Don’t forget me!
I said: You? Have you seen Dr M’s block print?
He said: How could you? How could you be so shallow!?
I said: It’s true your history and physicals are well written and descriptive, I enjoy reading your little novels, and you always do what is right for the patient.
He said: That’s how he gets all the nurse votes, with that damned writing. I could write like that but I prefer to focus my time on taking care of the patient! That man is not normal. So, you like reading my notes huh?

----

We stand around the desk discussing the procedure we are about to witness, the intensivist is educating the residents about it and then suddenly smashes his fist on the desk and yanks my identification badge that says: Neurology under my name and says: You are not in Neuro anymore! What is this?

Everyone blush for the exposed me. I had to remind myself that I am fully clothed. I thought I floated around the place with my invisible shield on as I cling under the wing of the more experienced nurses: watching, learning, and listening.

Talk about possessiveness. I am surrounded by abnormal personalities, and I fit right into my new house.

 

[waaitg]

The book was sold out. In a pissed off rage I decided to break down and purchase a nook. It wasn’t planned.

My best friend told me that he absolutely hates shopping for me because of a reason akin to this.

I've always been someone content with whatever possessions I have and one to throw my money into the piggy bank. I'm by no means wealthy, but when I want something, I just go an buy it. I hate waiting for my rewards and while some part of me thinks I would be a better person if I practiced more patience, I justify my indulgences by saying that life is too short.

But what is the purpose of life? Is it to minimize the sad times and the boring times? Is it a race to acquire the most toys? Or maybe it is simply an endurance race to see who makes it through with the fewest regrets?

If it's not about quantity, is it about quality? Should I be seeking out the most intense experiences like skydiving, dancing in a club 6000 miles away and indulging in debauchery? Cause if so, would patience and denial make these experiences more intense? Am I decreasing my happiness by not practicing patience?

Does typing this out help me? Or anyone?

All I know is that when I entered this nook of Lit, I didn't plan to have these thoughts, but your words have broken down my resolve to simply sit and read. I wonder if I should be mad?

 

[sweepthefloor]

Got Milk?

......... I wonder if I should be mad?

If you are mad, fight with me. I wonder if I should be mad as I sit and type.

I found myself in pre-teen years at some club for boxers. I liked being there. I didn’t belong there but nobody seemed to mind or even see me for a long time. I was invisible. I felt like a curious spy. Sometimes when I didn’t want to watch the men fight I would sit alone in the stairwell. Eventually some old fighter man named Sam asked me if I wanted to give it a try. I remember him showing me how to tape up my wrists, and I told him that I wanted a mouthpiece even though I wouldn’t be playing with anyone, I just wanted to feel real. I wanted to feel like them.

Typing words often validates my thinking when I see it on page lines as opposed to seeing the words stamped on the typewriter ink ribbons in my head. On ink ribbons you can only see the impression, the scar of the letter that strikes it- there is no paper in there. It helps. I will be the paper.

I don’t collect objects or regrets. I don’t save money but I hoard experiences and facial expressions.

Doesn’t the need to bed each other feel better than the actual bedding?

Life does spoil and we have no known expiration date on our label. We are the milk jugs and every time we open our lids a little bacteria gets inside. I’m just saying: I come from a peanut butter and milk house. The milk never gets sour cause I drink it fast and look for more. We need more, doesn’t that feel great? I will wait for it.

What good is the quantity if there is no quality? I will have a fresh cold cup of milk please. There is no sense squirreling away gallons of sour milk.

I didn’t want this nook but I wanted instant books. Waiting for a book to come in the mail or my turn at the library does not increase my happiness. It’s not like milk or men.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Our short love affair died sometime last year when he nuzzled his face in between my legs and slobbered all over me like a dog. A big dog.

I did not tolerate the procedure well. After the affair was over I fucked him one time because he asked me so clearly without pretense. He simply said: Come over and fuck. I said: Ok. I also requested that he order me Chinese food. He must think that one day I will say yes again, and he also thinks it has something to do with the Chinese food.

He calls: Come over.
I say: I am not home.
He pleads: I will be quick.
I reply: Some other time.
He begs: Please
I say: I gotta go now.
He cries: I will order Chinese food!
I say: Some other time, bye!

My fuck for a bowl of rice and crispy noodles?

 

[Edith_UK]

^ that made me fuckin laugh that did. I like the truth of the Chinese food confusion. And I like you, Janey x

 

[sweepthefloor]

^ that made me fuckin laugh that did. I like the truth of the Chinese food confusion. And I like you, Janey x

Laughing is good, and so is the funny truth. I like you too and these words are written just for you. I wrote them to post in your Trust thread but then I felt guilty for story-lining your place. So here it is, for you woman:

Dear Edie,

I had this pack of matches and one emergency candle. The power of the world was out in my life. It was complete empty darkness. I lit the first match and a big gust of the memories past wind blew it out before I could light the candle. I was discouraged. I tried it again and the storm of my life poured rain and extinguished my flame. I cried.

I waited hopeless and weak for the storm to pass. I saved up my anger, and my matches. When my stomach that feeds my intuition told me that the time is right, the time is now: I took a risk and burned the whole pack of matches at once. I lit the candle with my last chance and with that I fueled my hope. It was momentary success, and it was enough to get started.

On the bed of the dark forest floor crawling on all fours with the dim lit candle in my mouth to light the way I knew one thing: survive.

Emergency candles don’t burn forever so I gathered some sticks. I pulled my history out of my backpack and set it on fire. It made the struggle lighter, and my camp much brighter. I didn’t stop. I wanted more and more sticks to burn. The match lit a candle that lit sticks that burned history that fired up bigger sticks and old felled trees that lit up the sky and warmed my life!

I gathered rocks and built a small wall around my inferno. I didn’t make the wall big: I wanted to see out, and let passersby see in. I kept it just the right height to control my own flaming heart, so that I wouldn’t burn all the trees down around me, because surely not all the trees are rotted inside.

So here I am blazing my hope for you to feel comfortable warmth without getting burned, and see the light in this darkness without hurting your eyes. Because everybody knows that the light hurts when the dark is what your eyes know, and defrosting frozen hearts is a process that happens over time for safety.

I hope this makes sense. It starts with small sticks. And it's not easy, but don't give up. And if you need a light, I got your match.

Love,
Janey

 

[sweepthefloor]

When I start playing the real world treasure hunt game of geocaching, I will put in my waterproof hidden cache box sexy poems, and love stories. That would be great.

 

[waaitg]

I wonder if I should be mad?

I'm not actually mad, just wondering if I should be.

If you are mad, fight with me. I wonder if I should be mad as I sit and type.

...

I don’t collect objects or regrets. I don’t save money but I hoard experiences and facial expressions.

...

Life does spoil and we have no known expiration date on our label. We are the milk jugs and every time we open our lids a little bacteria gets inside.

...

I didn’t want this nook but I wanted instant books. Waiting for a book to come in the mail or my turn at the library does not increase my happiness. It’s not like milk or men.

I collect objects but I hoard items as tokens and mementos of the feelings they evoked in the past. The cards I would play with friends at 3:00 AM in the University centre, the books that inspired me to write short stories, the comic books and how they had these magical shades of color that were a story completely in and of themselves ... all memories that were so precious to me that I cannot let the items which inspired me to possibly escape, lest my happy thoughts dissipate without a physical anchor to secure them in this sea of "remember to pay this bill" and "go exchange these pants for a larger size" mundane details.

...

When you say milk is bacteria, I have this image in my mind that we are vessels that are doomed to spoil as we enjoy our time in the sun, but the same ideas that infect us with joy are the ones that lead to our doom. Such is the cruelty of life in that the same items that bring us joy are the ones that leave us so little time to enjoy it.

...

The waiting does not bring me joy either. Screw all pithy pieces of poetry that say and speak such poppycock. The written magic of some words is so great that I have to stop reading sometimes, just because a turn of phrase is so right, so perfect in capturing a moment, that I have to pause, and let the words envelope and caress my mind, the same way that returning to a warm bed on a cold morning, brings you a sense of cozyness and peace.

 

[jomar]

T...
He said: What book?
I replied: Fifty Shades of Grey

We discussed the three different nook options. He covered the details and said: With nook friends you can share your books.
I said: You think I want friends to know what I read?
He said: Everyone has their thing.

I said: It's time we stop-
He said: Huh?
I said: Hey what's that sound?
He said: What?
I said: Everybody look what's going down-
He said: What do you mean?

I said: Paranoia strikes deep
He said: Are you ok?
I said: Into your life it will creep
He said: <nothing>
I said: It starts when your always afraid
He said: <nothing>
I said: Step out of line the man come and take you away

He said: You are crazy.
I said: Yes.

I laughed.

Bedsides the obvious friends/sharing thing, I also interpreted this to mean the sales guy didn't make the connection between the book you wanted and your need to be...reigned in.

Or maybe I'm just projecting...things have been interesting lately.

 

[sweepthefloor]

W- is for Warrior

I'm not actually mad, just wondering if I should be......

Nothing wrong with a little mad, I find it to be therapeutic and sometimes mad brings out the best in me.

I hardly keep any tokens, and some memories slip away, and some remain. I figure when I am old and demented I won’t remember what the objects mean anyway. As for the memories in the now—I write some. It’s good to have a happy memory place. The funny thing about this is that a box was returned to me from a basement in the city, given to my father who gave it back to me. In the box was a crushed flower and a piece of paper wrapped in plastic that says: Today I went to the beach with Jack Smith and his parents. He gave me this flower. I think he loves me madly. I am so crazy for him. He is so cute and dreamy. We went on the rides and he won prizes for me. We even held hands in the backseat of his parent’s car! In 10 years from now, I will probably read this and laugh at myself.

When my Dad handed me the box he said: Wait till you read that paper. I immediately started to blush. I had no memory of it at all. In fact, I don’t even remember him giving me the flower but I remember him putting his fingers inside my wet pussy some time later that same year. I remember his wanting like it was yesterday.

I do not agree that what brings us total joy is the same thing that spoils, dooms or ruins us. Unless of course what we enjoy is harmful, oh—I don’t know for sure.

Poppycock! That word is so funny. I have a mind to delay some things for greater joy; print just isn’t one of them. Unless of course the words are in the form of lust letters written especially for me describing details of outlandish and near criminal sex that will cause me to blush and make love to my pillow like nobody is looking. You know I still do hide under the covers and keep peeping out to make sure the privacy is not breached. It’s really ridiculous and pathetic. One day I will grow some imaginary balls on my hand sac and finger myself with my own cock like a real woman.

 

[sweepthefloor]

J- is for Joules

J- is for joules and I am anticipating full charge, and disclosure of all things interesting.

I laughed.

Bedsides the obvious friends/sharing thing, I also interpreted this to mean the sales guy didn't make the connection between the book you wanted and your need to be...reigned in.

Or maybe I'm just projecting...things have been interesting lately.

I laughed also, and surely the salesman was unaware. Awareness is great, where the fuck is his reticular activating system? I can’t expect the stranger nook seller to anticipate my needs to be… what they are. Speaking of horses it’s almost time to start my new life at the racetrack! I can’t wait to observe these track dwellers. I haven’t decided how I will dress up for these events yet, but surely I will wear my red two-lips.

What is interesting? I want details, don’t deprive me please! It’s not fair! Whisper it to me. I will not rest till you fire your defibrillator.

 

[waaitg]

Poppycock! That word is so funny.

Poppycock
Popinjay
Poppadom

Please populate this post with peepees everywhere!

Teehee! Pee-pees!

 

[sweepthefloor]

Poppycock
Popinjay
Poppadom

Please populate this post with peepees everywhere!

Teehee! Pee-pees!

Pardon me Mr. Pee the potholes on the path your car pounces on pains my precious pee hole. I am pissed on your pathetic seats! I hope you don’t mind.

Please don’t punch me in my pink pie face for pissing in the passenger place. How will I pucker my pretty petunia around your prick if you do?

 

[waaitg]

How will I pucker my pretty petunia around your prick if you do?

Oh please... Promises promises

 

[jomar]

...

What is interesting? I want details, don’t deprive me please! It’s not fair! Whisper it to me. I will not rest till you fire your defibrillator.

My defib takes no prisoners...

How about your in box?

 

[Edith_UK]

Awww cheers Janey, that's very sweet of ya darlin. I've printed it out cos I like it. I ain't totally in the dark though mate. Spend most of my time laughing at shit, getting pissed, messin about. It's only sometimes the past is like a monkey on my back.

Mind you if we've only got one match left I'd definitely twos the last cig with ya, and we can gossip while we smoke

 

[RedButterflySlut]

sweepthefloor, I have just read your entire thread and loved every entry you wrote. It was addicting, lovely, poetic, everything I could want. You have such a talent, and a unique style. I'm impressed!

Reading your writing gives the same feeling of being just a little too tipsy on whiskey, when a guy comes over looking for sex, but I'm too drunk to really care either way about the whole situation. It fills my head with delicious buzzing, and an appetite for more.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

When the mind goes walking fueled by petting and treats, the heads tongue might lick your face and wet you with cerebral spinal fluid. The dog brain will run ahead, run back to you and smile, and then run ahead again. The game is never tiring.

With a knick-knack paddy-whack, 
Give the brain a bone-

When a brain curls up on the idea sofa where it's not supposed to be, and raises its hackles at intruding UPS thoughtsters on one's porch, then it's been a good day.

 

[sweepthefloor]

My defib takes no prisoners...

How about your in box?

My inbox says: Do not enter--- but if you do, prepare to be choked, and you will exit simply limply (and happy I suppose).

 

[sweepthefloor]

Awww cheers Janey, that's very sweet of ya darlin. I've printed it out cos I like it. I ain't totally in the dark though mate. Spend most of my time laughing at shit, getting pissed, messin about. It's only sometimes the past is like a monkey on my back.

Mind you if we've only got one match left I'd definitely twos the last cig with ya, and we can gossip while we smoke

Yeap, I get it.

 

[sweepthefloor]

sweepthefloor, I have just read your entire thread and loved every entry you wrote. It was addicting, lovely, poetic, everything I could want. You have such a talent, and a unique style. I'm impressed!

Reading your writing gives the same feeling of being just a little too tipsy on whiskey, when a guy comes over looking for sex, but I'm too drunk to really care either way about the whole situation. It fills my head with delicious buzzing, and an appetite for more.

I am glad you enjoy the drunk. I wonder what % I can put on this label. It's surely not pure ethanol. I should add some coloring to these spirits. I am totally diluted.

drip. drip. drip.

We once set up a liquor lab in the kitchen. My friends were like: What the fuck is that? I said: I don't know. It is a still. My Dad is brewing up some alcohol to clean his tools with. XXX Brand.

What if we go blind??? I mean, are we doing this right? What are the risks?


Thank you for the compliment. I am glad I could give you everything that you want in a read.

 

[sweepthefloor]

When a brain curls up on the idea sofa where it's not supposed to be, and raises its hackles at intruding UPS thoughtsters on one's porch, then it's been a good day.

I think I will go to bed early tonight. I will put my brain to sleep on the pillow where it belongs. The funny thing about bed brains is that they think it's time to rock and roll dream. This is getting out of hand.

 

[RedButterflySlut]

I am glad you enjoy the drunk. I wonder what % I can put on this label. It's surely not pure ethanol. I should add some coloring to these spirits. I am totally diluted.

drip. drip. drip.

We once set up a liquor lab in the kitchen. My friends were like: What the fuck is that? I said: I don't know. It is a still. My Dad is brewing up some alcohol to clean his tools with. XXX Brand.

What if we go blind??? I mean, are we doing this right? What are the risks?


Thank you for the compliment. I am glad I could give you everything that you want in a read.

If your entries where a liquor, it'd be high-class gin. Made with oranges, irises and flowers mashed into that pretty blue color that glows in black light.
47% alcohol by content, 3% discontent and 50% cruel honesty.

Did you clean your insides with the liquor made for tools?

The first time we got drunk, it was in my grandma's basement. The bottle was written completely in German, the seal never broken. It smelled like liquorice and bad poetry. We passed it around to the four of us, some form of bonding that brought us close, each sip of the awful liquid a testament of our desire to escape the white-picket fences of our parents. Like a pack of wild dogs, we took off to the woods behind her house. The green liquid clouded our minds, made us hallucinate demons in the trees and monsters in our heads.
When we sobered up we convinced our gullible friends the woods where haunted. We knew the truth. They didn't.

See what your poetry does? Makes me want to write too. I like it. <3

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

I think I will go to bed early tonight. I will put my brain to sleep on the pillow where it belongs. The funny thing about bed brains is that they think it's time to rock and roll dream. This is getting out of hand.

Do you dream in rock and roll light shows, sweat and stale beer soaking your amygdala as you thrash REM brainsolos across your mosh pit of sheets and covers?

Just asking.