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Old 09-19-2002, 05:48 PM   #1
aaron
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Post The Diaries of Dyllan McMillan

Thursday, September 19, 2002

dear diary,


As a 29 year old single male of somewhat scottish decent, i don't tend to hold onto a girl for very long. It seems that they can always find some sort of fault in me that i didn't know existed until i met them. the most recent fling is Tera.. after a week, she's already telling me i have bad listening skills and a short attention span and bad listening skills.. oh yeah, her name is Tera.. anyways, she says i have a short attention span and that i need to act my age if i plan to continue a relationship with a woman almost twice that. okay okay.. so she's 53.. let's not get into that..
i haven't kept a diary since i was about twelve years old, but today i thought that incase i should die at Zanwek, i had better start something that people can read and see just how pathetic of a man i was..(it's come to the point where i can be proud of it) You see, I have this new job with Zanwek Realstate (for about 3 weeks now) and i was hoping it could be a fresh new start. My father worked for Zanwek for 15 years. Turns out Tera was his boss' wife at the time? i don't know.. anyways i'm finally settling in.. i have my own office, but it's nothing to brag about.. it's right next to the janitor's closet and i'm tempted to move my stuff into there instead.

I have to do lunch with the boss (or "poop shoot" as i like to call him) tomorrow and talk with him on how i feel about my position here at Zanwek so far... this ought to be interesting

DM
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Old 09-19-2002, 07:40 PM   #2
Molly
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Friday, September 30, 2002

well, luch meeting with "Poop Shoot" flew as wel as a brick. When asked my opinon of Zanwek, my brain shut down and my mouth opened and guess what i said? "To be frank, sir, i think that Zanwek is a very stupid name for a real Estate company."
Dead silence. you could have heard an ant fart. You know, i've never actually seen a person's face turn the color of a beet, but my boss's did. I jumped up and mumbled something about being very sorry but i had to go feed my rug and ran out the door. Am now hiding out in janitor's closet. A box of Windex is actually more comfy of a chair than you'd think. i am considering making this my permanent home.Or perhaps the witness protection agency would like me? i guess seeing Tera anymore is out of the question.
But i'm glad i started this because i think i'll die very soon. i hear footsteps now as i write this; oh lord, let it be the janitor...
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Old 09-26-2002, 10:03 PM   #3
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Old 09-28-2002, 06:43 PM   #4
silverlock
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I let out a small scream as the gorilla of a man entered the tiny janitor's closet. If I could have hidden myself behind the economy size package of toilet paper, I would have. But it was too late. "Off my Windex!" he screamed.

"Take it easy, Koko," I truly believe my mouth has a mind of its own. The janitor "helped" me up. I probably would have left right then, but it's incredibly hard to move when your feet aren't touching the ground. "I'm not really in the mood to dance right now, big guy," I said with a grin. That was the last grin I had for awhile.

Thankfully, twenty minutes and two mops later, Koko smashed my head into the concrete wall, and I went to a better place: oblivion.

I woke up here. I think that I will eventually have full use of all of my faculties, since every part of my body is in agony. When I first awoke, I had a very sweet, young nurse named Lauren. She was the one who found me the pen. I think her shift is over. The last nurse that came in here was a bitter looking sadist named Doris. She had to stick me eight times to hook up my IV. I don't think it was an accident.

Ooh, I need to go; I think the doctor's coming...
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Old 09-30-2002, 02:27 PM   #5
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Did I mention that my eyes are swollen almost completely shut? I've had to hold this journal right up to my face to see what I'm writing, and with both wrists in casts, even that's been tough to do since I really only have use of my fingers. I'm pretty sure if one of those handwriting analysts saw these pages they'd say I was suicidal because all the words look like they're jumping off a bridge.

So, needless to say it was hard to identify right away the shadowy figure standing at my bedside. When he said, "I'm here with a warning," I thought it was the doctor, warning me that someone would be coming soon to stick another needle in me. Naturally my eyes got wide when he said that, and it was then that I was able to see that it wasn't the doctor at all, but Poop Shoot, standing there holding a bunch of magazines, which he proceeded to drop on my leg. Man did that hurt.

He said I must be some sort of nutcase for setting up shop in the janitor's closet, and I probably deserved the beating I got, but the fact is that Zanwek can't afford to get sued right now, so I'd better keep my mouth shut about the incident with Koko. With that he pulled an envelope out of one of the magazines and tossed it on my chest. It was heavy. "That should be enough to make you go away quietly and never come back," he said. Then he told me to get well real soon so that once the insurance company pays off my medical bills he can have HR take me off the payroll. He'd even give me a good reference, he said, just to keep me from getting "resentful," as he put it.

I just lay there, taking it all in. I didn't really have a choice since it kind of hurts to talk and I'm pretty much immobile. But if Tera could see my listening skills now, boy would she be impressed!

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Old 10-02-2002, 09:33 PM   #6
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Old 10-04-2002, 04:04 PM   #7
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I got a taxi home but the damn driver didn't even help me with my bag. I think he may have taken offense when I told him his cab smelled like BO. So my suitcase is still out on the front lawn, since I couldn't carry it and maneuver the crutches.

I was surprised to find a paycheck from Zanwek Real Estate mixed in with the rest of the past two weeks' mail. I guess they'll just keep paying me until I'm completely healed. Sweet deal.

So now I'm just sitting by the window, eating my fingernails and waiting for Doris to arrive. Hmmm...the lamppost light is out. I hope she doesn't trip over my suitcase.
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Old 10-05-2002, 01:54 PM   #8
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Old 10-10-2002, 05:23 PM   #9
silverlock
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Saturday, October 8th

Well, if I had the guts, I'd probably kill myself. I suppose I should tell you what happened last night between Doris, Boris, and the mystery man.

When they all collided in my front yard, I very carefully made my way outside to assess the damage. Boris and Doris were dusting themselves off. The third man was, of course, good old Poop Shoot. I still don't know exactly why he was there, since he was unconscious upon my arrival. Apparently, Boris had landed on the top half of his body.

Now he wasn't unconscious the entire time. And I'm sure that he would have told me why he was there right then, if his collar bone hadn't been crushed. Or if his shoulder hadn't been dislocated. Like I said, Boris is a big boy.

We had to listen to old Poop Shoot's screams until the ambulance arrived. Doris didn't lessen his pain when she insisted on "relocating" his shoulder for him. She even did it free of charge.

Perhaps most women would have been turned off after such an incredible night, but Doris is a rare woman. She was more excited than ever, and in my weakened state, I was very alarmed.

However, I like to think of myself as being an honest man. So, I decided to take advantage of her good mood and inform her that I was not very interested in continuing a relationship with a fat sadistic cow.

Doris took that a little harder than I had anticipated. I hope that you never experience the sensation of having someone beat you with your own crutches as you unsuccessfully attempt to crawl away from them. Luckily, Boris was there. He and I have been neighbors for quite some time, and he's one of the strange people that actually seems to like me.

He jumped in front of Doris, thereby landing on my spine, grabbed one of my crutches from her, and began to fight back. It was not unlike Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader's final battle in Return of the Jedi. Of course, I crawled back into my house, but not before I saw Doris and Boris battling their way into his house. I'm sure they'll have a very happy life together.

So, here I am, lying on my living room floor wishing I could kill myself. It's going to be rather difficult for me to get around without any crutches for a few days. Hopefully, I'll be able to reach the fridge.
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Old 10-14-2002, 12:31 AM   #10
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I really need to reach the fridge you know. Cause before I told Doris about the sadistic cow thing she had given me a honey baked ham. You know, all crusty and sweet on the outside.

She put it in the fridge for me and swept my house up before we went back outside to deal with that lunatic Poop Shoot, crying like a little kid.

If I could make it to the fridge I'd probably be able to get the ham out. I mean I'm sure I could poke it out but I don't know it might fall on my head on the way down. But then I could eat it, all of it.

Right now, though, I better just get used to the floor here. I'm sitting next to my green velour couch. It's a family relic. It's shiny and nice. The only problem is the dust smell. But I don't care. Everything I have has a cool and neat value that super outweighs the basement stench.
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Old 10-16-2002, 02:32 PM   #11
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Dear Diary,

I knew that at some point I would need to go to the bathroom, but I didn't realize that I might need some help around here until I was actually wetting my pants. I'm not in any shape to be taking care of myself.

So I slowly made my way over to the phone book and found a listing for an at-home, round-the-clock nurse service. I just called and arranged to have one start right away. I also told them to make sure she is young and pretty. Surprisingly they didn't take offense. In fact, they said, "Of course, Mr. McMillan. We'll be sending Daisy over within the hour."

The first thing Daisy is going to is clean up the pee-pee snail trail I made while dragging myself over to the phone.
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Old 10-18-2002, 11:13 PM   #12
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Old 11-05-2002, 03:39 AM   #13
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lo ks ike i'l ave o cont nue wit

bodily fluids. lucky for me, my chest wound began pussing up a bloody, thick and very manageable liquid that clings well to the dry tip of the pen. Also lucky for me I was able to crawl over to the kitchen where there is plenty of white formica to use for journal pages.

Writing feels good -- I am productive and I am leaving something behind that would probably be accepted as an art installation in some parts of the world. The cabinets scream to me to fill them with passion, philosophy, and lines of love...just as the blank canvas of life screams to all men and women and other hapless sentient beings to paint on it the art of living their lives! Yes!

I am gaining strength even as I scrawl these words, I am standing up and smearing my pustule juice on the cupboards now, the refrigerator; I open it hungrily and tear my long-unclipped nails into the salted pink flesh of the ham (the sweet crusties get caught under my nails) --- fuel! Sweet fuel! The pork molecules rush through my bloodstream and clear all the toxins from my wounds.

I rip off my bandages and run outside, singing in the tropical night air; I breathe in its warmth and then, without stopping to think,
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