Dirt Hole Journal Day 1 (of 5)

This is the first day journal entry of my experience of living in a dirt hole that these posts recount:

Dirt Hole Crash Pad Part 1:

https://gabfrab.wordpress.com/2011/03/22/dirt-hole-crash-pad/

Dirt Hole Crash Pad Part 2:

https://gabfrab.wordpress.com/2011/03/25/dirt-hole-crash-pad-part-2-of-2/

Probably should read them before reading this. The unabridged (minus small sentence structure, grammar, and word changes) journal is a supplementary piece of material to those more essential posts.

Note: Anytime you see (Note: Sample Words) is the present me commenting on the journal.

And now…

Dirt Hole Journal Day 1:

Yeah I have garbage handwriting. No it normally doesn't look quite this shitty and childish.

10:34 A.M. in the morning, I get it. Weight: 200 lbs.

I guess I don’t really know how much of this I will be writing for an audience and how much of this will be written for myself to be kept to myself. A healthy mix of both I guess. I’ll try write a formal introduction later. I already feel it in the back of my mind : you must write for and audience. But, oh mind of mine, I will edit as I see fit. A few lines up as I was writing I saw a fly in my hair.

I am afraid, okay not afraid, but concerned about getting ticks. I especially don’t want any ticks to be crawling on my crotch area. I will purposefully never get an erection while out here so the tick doesn’t have a growing and ample supply of blood to feed on from my penis tube. The last time that I masturbated was about half an hour ago. It felt exceptionally good. I thought of Asami (Note: Asami was a cute married chick whose blog I read at the time) going to the gynecologist. I just read that blog not long ago. No blogging and no masturbating, this is going to be hard to make work.

My body is tired from the four loads of shit I took out today. Hopefully I ate enough before I left to give my body spunk for a while. Maybe two days worth, but I doubt it. I am now going to try and nap atop the tent with the juice on it. If that doesn’t work I’ll build a fire, get shit set up. I’d also like to take a swim. Fire before swim! That way I can heat up after swimming.

I feel like I’m writing for myself now, maybe that’s why this is so terrible. (Note: I was apparently rather perceptive for a twenty year old.) I can hear tractors in the field next to my woods moving around trees brought in by the flood. I hope the tractors don’t stay long. Just thought I saw something move, but it ended up being a leaf or some shit. Okay, nap time. I’ve been up for 22 hours straight. No bug spray. I’m a mad man!

 

Okay so now it’s a few hours later. Took a nap. If I had to guess I’d say it’s around 7 P.M. Time obviously isn’t important to me — just light and dark. So I slept on one tent and under another (Note: Apparently I had two tents?). There were a few puddles on both so I got a bit wet, though I managed to mostly avoid it. Anyway, I woke up three separate times, but was like nah, I’m not quite ready. After I did finally get up I made a fire from wood laying close to camp. Was damn easy. After sitting by the fire for a bit I decided to take another nap. Either I hadn’t slept enough before, or that five minutes of wood gathering really tired me out.

I feel too much like I’m chronicling these things that I’m doing instead of actually exploring in them. This trip is for me to live in my mind, and I’ve always been best at figuring things out through my writing. I guess it will be a struggle to stay away from simple categorization in what I write. Though I’m sure in a couple of days I will have completely abandoned this chronicling approach in favor of writing down snippets of thoughts that will be a jumbled mess. I don’t want to see how the puzzle is all put together. I guess it’s important that I realize that the journey may be more magnificent than the outcome, though the journey itself will be part fun, part “A Hell ride.” (Note: I was very into Wesley Willis at the time, so that might not be the last time I reference him http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wesley_Willis.)

I think during my time out here I won’t have a full grasp of changes in me until I get back home and am hopefully not too lazy to read through this. The changes might not be permanent, but it will be something that I will look back on and maybe want to do again in one form or another. Oh, I really do hope for some radical writing by like day 4. I mean, I haven’t even been out for for 12 hours yet.

So yeah, I’ve gotten my fire going again, it’s starting to die, but it feels nice. The temperature is nice — a cool warm. I’m covered with shit from napping in the dirt. I might go lay down again. Then I will have to bundle up more firewood for the night and dig my grave hole that I will be sleeping in.

Anyway, to recount my morning until I got here: Well I stayed up all night like I had planned, so that I could get out here early. My goal was to be here at 10 A.M. I made it out at 10:30.

Let me spin back: I was on the internet last night, writing messages to people saying bye and all of that, and then I got onto Yahoo messenger. Vanessa was on there. (Note: Vanessa was my first girlfriend who broke up with me about a year and three months prior to this. Read about her here: https://gabfrab.wordpress.com/2011/01/31/the-love-lagoon-part-2-of-2/.)  I had just gotten a Facebook message from her the morning before, it was in response to a “how ya doing” I’d sent her a few months back. Her reply was standard, seemingly uncaring, and although my fingers were shaking when I saw a message from her, after reading it I was like “well, neither of us care, I don’t think I’ll send any more messages.” I hadn’t had a conversation, other than a few words since the last time I saw her over a year and three months ago. I got on messenger and her sister im’d me under Vanessa’s account. We talked for a bit, she said BRB but never came back. I was kind of pathetic; I waited an hour and finally got a reply. I think I talked to Will (Note: My soon to be roomie and then best friend) before the im, but not in the meantime.

Anyway, I got a reply from Vanessa’s account. I soon realized it was Vanessa I was talking to, and like I said, we had our first conversation in over a year. We talked for three hours. It was nice, though I wouldn’t want to do it again other than a little catch up every months or two. (Note: we never had a long conversation like that again.) She hadn’t necessarily been a bitch like I thought she had, or like a pothead that I’d also suspected her of becoming. The pot thing didn’t have much basis, but I guess the bitch part did.

Anyway, she has become a partying, smoking, have a lot of sex girl which is why I wouldn’t want to talk to her too often. (Note: my exes have a tendency to immediately move on from me once we split and take up with confident guys who like to party; who will fuck my exes nonstop. Ewwwww. (Read: these dudes are normal, happy, outgoing, good boyfriends. AKA things I’m apparently incapable of being. Y-y-y-yikes, King Gabfrab.) Maybe I’m boring and bitter. Know I’m jealous and judgmental. Ruh-roh.) She was still plenty cool, but basically she just reminded me of most any typical college party girl which is something I’m not into (Note: Yep, I’m a judgmental self righteous lonely prick). I won’t want to even rekindle a friendship with her. I mainly feel apathetic towards the past with her, but obviously talking to her might bring back a bad feeling if something is said, and I’m not going to put my happiness on the brink. I’m doing well, as is she, we’re just different people now and that’s cool because it makes things easier.

After we finished talking it was four in the morning. I took a shit and jerked off while I showered. Vanessa popped in my head a little bit, not in a sexual way, just thoughts of the conversation. Anyway, I kicked those thoughts out. Get away from me hell demons. One more thing about our conversation: we both agreed that we’d been in a bad relationship with one another. (Note to future Gabfrab: try figure out how to be a good boyfriend for the first time in your life, dude.)

After showering I started getting shit together. I wrote Sam (Note: a college friend of mine who I wanted to date freshman year) a letter with the words going right to left. (I just spit in the fire — it made a cool sound.) So yeah I talked to mom and dad and dad told me I had to mow grandma’s yard which was stressing because I’d forgotten about it and it threw my schedule off. I took out three loads of shit to camp before before going to grandma’s. I also had mom take a picture of me in the Hugo’s Grocery bags.

Hauling the shit out there sucked. First I brought the cooler that was stacked with shit that had to keep dry. I also brought a bag of newspapers for burning. Next I brought the dummy (I need to assemble him), a shovel, and a chair. I about had a heart attack because the shit was so bulky that I had to readjust it all the time. I am so fucking happy that I have all of that the shit out here now.

Yesterday sucked because on my first trip out I brought too much. My bags with juice began breaking and dropping and as I slid down into the woods my tent bag fell apart. I left some shit by some fallen over shit and brought the rest to my campsite. It was then that I realized I was missing my tent poles which had been in the bag. (I think I might hear an animal walking around in the woods, I’m sorta on edge but not really. I also might feel a bug crawling around on my upper ass crack. There is a bird in a tree above me making the sound of a broken rubber ducky. I hope he isn’t calling in a squad of animals to eliminate my ass. I think the bug on my ass was just sand.)

Anyway it started raining hard and I couldn’t find the tent poles. Was pretty fucking frustrated. I brought the rest of the juice back to camp and after looking for the poles Tried to climb out of the woods. I kept on slipping because my shoes sucked and I had to grab onto the stems of a clump of poison ivy just to pull myself out. Brought out one more load of juice, the entire time mad about losing the tent poles. When I got back home, soaked and muddy, I was like fuck it. I wanted this to be hard anyway. So that’s when I decided to just live in a hole I’d dig that’d be lined and covered with the two tents from the bag. I guess a lot of this trip was spur of the moment, like deciding on the way from the bank to Target that I would bring no food and only have juice.

Anyway, back to today. After brining out the bulky load I brought a bunch of water and saved at least one whole trip by carrying a bunch in my backpack. After that I ate some granola and fruit snacks and then mowed at grandma’s which didn’t take long. (I’ll admit I’m kinda bored right now, this will be boring to read when I get back, but it will be useful to have a clear picture of events.)

I got back and was ready to take the final load. Keeping consistent with being completely unorganized, I kept on running in to grab one more thing or whatever. I’d been doing that all morning. I was like “Oh yeah, I need this.” Thinking on it now, I probably should have brought a flashlight out here. When I decided to live in my grave hole, I also decided on no blankets or pillows. Anyway, I got the last of my shit, printed off a picture of me laughing for the dummy face, jerked off to a porn of a hot black girl getting fucked while her nice big tits shook around, grabbed my wine, and headed for the woods.

As I walked out two tractors were in the field by my living-woods. They were up there for a while but I no longer hear them. They can’t see where I am anyway.  So yeah, I’m here. I think I might lay down again because I’m tired. My goals before night hits are to dig my grave hole, construct the dummy, and get wood for a night fire. Getting my fire going has been easy but it doesn’t seem to want to burn the big stuff so the fire goes out after like a half hour. I hope I get good sleep. Tomorrow if it’s warm I’ll be swimming to Minnesota to browse around and I’ll also be drinking the first of my juice. Peach mango, I’m thinking. Oh, yes, I’d also like to do an inventory tonight but if not then I’ll do it in the morning. Okay going to lay down now. Damn, a bug is on my back haha.

 

Your Unprepared Narrator, GABFRAB:

So much hope and optimism at this point. (Note: Christ I was an ugly pale hippie mook.)

P.S. Okay so that was day one. Some good stuff, some boring shit. The next days are going to be much longer entries I believe. Hope they aren’t insufferable. These journals aren’t an essential read for this blog. But I want to be a completist and there will be good bits here and there I’m sure. They do read like a personal journal and not a polished piece for an audience.

I was a different person back then — much more optimistic, social, and caring. It’s interesting to look at and think of the ways, all for the worse, that I’ve changed in the five years since writing this journal. Introspection and reflection on that period of my life makes me pine for it in some ways. Buku unhealthy habit. In the actual physical journal itself I just found a barfbag between some back pages. I find that funny since my years of thieving barfbags from planes is how I came up with my internet handle.

This day covered the whole day (except night sleeping) but I believe other days will only cover part of a day and I finish that day up on the next day’s journal (e.g. On the journal marked day 3 I might start off by finishing what I didn’t write about from day 2). I’ll just post the journals under the day they’re marked, so some of these posts may end at a place that feels incomplete.

Here’s what surprised me in reading this:

The biggest is that I totally forgot about talking to Vanessa the night before I left to go camp. At this point in time I was well over her, but it was still weird to chat like that. She was a distant memory of pain in my life. It was the last time we ever had a really long conversation. Also, I believe it was our only long conversation since we broke up. I remember that I did not ask about her boyfriend at all. Maybe it still affected me more than I wanted to admit to myself. Not sure. I haven’t heard from her in about a year. That’s about how often we get in contact now — once a year or so. Also, it is sad to think that I still often have the same judgmental view today that I did then of people who party a lot. Really a lot of it stems from my jealousy, pain, and loneliness whenever an ex of mine starts to date someone new who I know is more exciting and better than me. When I have to acknowledge to myself I’ve lost them forever to a life that’ll wash away what they had with Nolan. I’ve got buku abandonment issues, folks. But as we all know, my teddy bear and 600 VHS tapes still love me. Y-y-y-yikes. I guess in five years there are ugly parts of me that unfortunately have changed little. Perhaps I should have filed the second half of this paragraph under (Note: John Q. Sample Fuck-up).

I forgot that I originally was going to have a real tent. I now remember losing the tent poles and spending so much time looking around in the dirt for them. Living in a dirt hole wasn’t even part of the original plan. I guess I’m a good improviser. I’m glad it turned out that way. If I’d slept in a normal tent my experience wouldn’t have been nearly as memorable. So glad it turned out the way I did.

Continue with reading day 2

2 thoughts on “Dirt Hole Journal Day 1 (of 5)

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