STOP! It's Too Late. I'm Feeling Frustrated

The Unexpurgated Diary of R. Cody Taylor [entry #one]

I need an entry point, and not knowing how to begin this, well, I’m going to rip-off Fernando Pessoa. Here we go…

In these random impressions, and with no desire to be other than random, I indifferently narrate my factless autobiography, my lifeless history. These are my Confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it’s because I have nothing to say.

I want to say EVERYTHING.

I have NOTHING to say.

I never leave the house, or at least I very rarely get out, and never seeing anyone, I know I won’t have much of anything interesting to say within these pages, but I feel I must write. I just have to put every word down on the pulp page. But I’m not sure exactly why. I just feel compelled, and knowing nothing other than what’s inside my head, I will write down every stray thought that zip-zaps, zig-zag-zigs, through my beleaguered brain. I will confess everything. I hope to be completely honest within these pages, say everything as truthfully as I can. 

But, know this, I am an unreliable narrator and am prone to lying. So this then will be an exercise in honesty, how honest can I be? I will do my best to be truthful. I swear, you can trust me.

[Ask yourself: How ‘auto’ is this autofiction? 7:43Pm]

[April 19, 2021. 9:28Am]

I write in my quiet room, alone as I will always be, or at least so it seems. The cat sits beside me, purring and licking her paws. She purrs, and I scratch her head. Ms. Maggie looks like she’s smiling, my sweet cat, the only other noun around. Most days I sit trapped in my head, thoughts loud and bouncing off the walls of my muddled mind. An echo of thought, growing louder and louder and louder until my brain hurts and all thinking stops. Mute. Headache. I smoke a cigarette and try to feel better. The sun shines, lemon yellow in the sky above, a soft breeze blows and cools my face. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men try to put Cody’s head back together again. I sip coffee [cold] and try to relax. I breathe and watch a red robin on the power pole. I try not to think. Silence. 

[10:23Am]

Me, in this small yellow house, interrogating life! Saying what my heart feels! Writing prose and poetry like some sort of genius, or some famous author! At least that’s what I see in my head, who’s to say that I’m wrong? There’s no problem with playing pretend on a boring Monday morning. 

Too much caffeine and I’ve got the heebie-jeebies, jitter-jangled and shook. I don’t know why I do this to myself, drink too much coffee and get all jittery? I’m too reliant on stimulants to get anything done, and I always over-indulge on the coffee and nicotine. I take 20 milligrams of Ritalin a day, every once in awhile 30mg. My shrink wouldn’t give me an Adderall prescription, afraid my addict brain would abuse amphetamines, and I’m sure he’s right. Is Ritalin an amphetamine? I drink gallons of cold coffee, and still don’t seem to get much done. The house is a mess, trashed and disorderly, it definitely needs to be cleaned, organized and scrubbed. It’s gross, the toilet looks like the toilet from Trainspotting, I mean it really does. I should be ashamed of myself for allowing my house to get this way, FUCK! I’m so lazy and my priorities are skewed, put too much time in on these grandly delusional thoughts of being a writer. I put too much time into playing pretend.

This is bumming me out. I need to quit thinking about my messy house and all the shit I’ve put off over the past several months. Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll clean and straighten, do the dishes and vacuum, or something, pull my head out of my ass and do something constructive. Need to get out of Fantasyland and back into the Real World. But who really wants reality? I know I don’t. 

[3:36Pm]

My deplorable situation isn’t in the least affected by the words I’m writing, it’s still a sad state of affairs. But, little by little, and piece by piece, my book of pointless musings and digressions moves on, I scribble with abandon. I think maybe this writing, if I’m lucky, all this pointlessness, just might provide some hurt or sad soul a few minutes of distraction from something worse than this writing, and if that’s the case, that’s enough for me, I think. I hope that’s enough, what else could I ask for from these meaningless confessions? I talk too much. I should probably shut-up now and move onto something productive, do something more worthwhile than scribbling in this diary, maybe I should do the dishes. 

[interlude: Training at work. 4Pm.]

[11:32Pm]

Ending out this day with one last entry before I decide whether or not to post this bullshit onto my blog, I don’t know that I will. But, also, I feel I need to make this diary public, and need to connect with someone out there beyond my house, the cat, and beyond the very few people I see daily, which are only the 3 ladies I work with [L. S. & M.] and the woman I buy my cigarettes from at the Kum-N-Go on Jefferson Avenue, I don’t know her name and that’s okay with me. Tonight I don’t think I have much left to say, maybe I do and don’t know it. Took more Ritalin an hour ago, and it’s [20mg] kicking in, I think. I plan on this being a long night of no, to very little, sleep and definitely no dreaming, I’m okay with this. Twenty minutes left in the day and I think I’ll take a shower.

It’s supposed to snow tomorrow, snow on 4/20. Feels like tomorrow I’m supposed to spend all day smoking weed. They, those Weathermen/Weatherwomen, say 2 or 3 inches, fucked up weather, but I have nowhere to go, not even work, doesn’t matter one way or the other. I have nothing to do tomorrow, and that’s okay, maybe I’ll do some house cleaning, but probably not. I think I’ll hop in the shower, I’m itchy and I think a shower could take care of whatever’s making me itch. [I just did an Edit, self-censoring, do you really need to know everything? I told you I’m unreliable, a liar. Sorry I can’t be totally truthful, I need to preserve some dignity.] The cat is lying on the couch next to me, grooming herself and looking a little sleepy. I itch. END of the day’s entry. [11:46Pm]

April 20, 2021. [12:08Am]

Going to re-read yesterday’s drivel and see how much of it shames me, if at all, the odds are it will embarrass the hell out of me and keep me from making this diary public. Have I posted this, and are you out there reading? Probably not, but I’ll pretend you’re out there, Dear Reader, and I’ll pretend that you’re listening to me ramble. Okay, to do the re-read and see what I think. Be back later, or some such shit. Just out of the shower and dressed in fresh clothes, or at least only halfway dirty clothes. Over and out, I swear...

UPDATE: I guess I’m going to post this [but you already know this, are you out there?] and then begin the late-night shift of writing until dawn, maybe, I think so. Need some caffeine, all I got is green tea, and I don’t want anything hot, not really. Okay, post this shit…[12:28Am]