Dirt Hole Journal Day 3 (of 5)

This is the third 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 this. The unabridged (minus small sentence structure, grammar, and word changes to help it flow better) 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. Scratched Word represents a word I crossed out in the journal.

And now…

Dirt Hole Journal Day 3

Saturday. Day 3 — I almost died twice. Mayo in belly.

Today I almost died twice. Not the paranoid “oh I’m gonna die I’m so scared,” kind of dying. I almost died for real via drowning.

But first let me recap last night. Oh yeah it’s probably around 8:30 PM. I would have journaled earlier, but the whole dying affair left me a little out of it.

So yeah last night I constructed the dummy finally. He has my laughing face. It laughs at me. The picture is stuck to the box by a pen and a pencil that I punctur stabbed through the top and bottom of the picture. He also has two sticks for arms and two sticks for legs. I did have the legs in the ground but it would not stand by itself so I set some jugs of water around its base to keep it up. Didn’t really matter because today was especially windy and the dummy box has been blown over. I don’t know if I want to give him a name or not, partly because of what I plan on doing to him on the fifth day (Note: I planned on raping the box and ejaculating in it). I do believe an attacker prefers their victim to be a nameless lifeless object, so maybe I’ll keep him that way. It has just occurred to me that I should fashion a penis for him. Perhaps tomorrow.

Who wouldn't want to fuck this?

So me and the dummy-box had a one sided conversation for maybe half an hour. I thought of using the Ishmael technique of communication — silently speaking to one another through eyes. This seemed like a good idea since I hope to hear my outer voice as little as possible while out here (and at the same time attempting to become more attuned to my inner voice) but I ended up laying on the ground with the dummy-box hovering over me as I quickly spoke to him.

Basically just ran through a brainstorm list of reasons why I’m out here, why I wish to go crazy, etc. I came up with what I’ve for the most part already known: I want to write some good journals and letters if I lose it, have plenty of time to be isolated so I can be peaceful, and maybe lose some nerves while calming my mind; seeing what I can do without and what I will miss; try bring myself to a more id-impulse driven brink, confronting or wrestling with some of my flaws (Note: This was set to air on pay-per-view), and the much more vanity oriented goal of losing some weight. That seems like a good list and I’m already feeling pretty serene and cool out here, plus I’ve talked over some of my flaws with and regrets in my mind and with Mr. Dummy-box. I’m still experiencing mind scenarios of trivial nothings with Vanessa. Like fake conversations which is something I always do in my head with a variety of people. I just wish they didn’t involve her. My mind slips much much too easy, so I guess things are simply unavoidable.

Dummy-box is supposed to have plants and leaves on his head for hair, but they’ve been blowing off and he is currently tipped over (hardly the most effective position to mock me in). Maybe I should kick him in the side for some beyond lame metaphorical idea of kicking myself while I’m down, uh, since I did almost die twice tonight.

Back to Vanessa: I’ve been able to mostly keep her out of my thoughts for some time now, though in the past few weeks they’ve broken in and having talked to her the night before I departed for the woods surely hasn’t helped. Thankfully I feel nothing other than annoyance toward these thoughts. I don’t think I’d be able to live with going back to a state of intense physical, emotional, mental pain while for every time a thought of her entered my head.

I generally masturbate if she pops in my head too much or if I get an unwanted sexual/semi-sexual thought involving her. Masturbating always clears my head up well over shit like that. (Note: What I’m trying to say here is that when I thought of her too much I’d masturbate to clear my mind of emotions, both sexual and longing. I did not think of her while masturbating, as I don’t allow myself to do that with exes. But unfortunately I was, and still am, masturbating myself into an emotional coma.) I guess it’s interesting how her and sexuality are intertwined with each other within me since she’s the only sexual experiences I’ve ever known. I need to stop being lazy and change that.

Last summer I assigned myself the goal of kissing at least three girls. I kissed zero. This summer I’d be ecstatic if I even made out with one girl, so yeah that’s my goal, and hopefully I won’t just wish for that girl to come sliding my way. (Note: I did not meet my target goal of one make out for that summer.) I hope I find the ambition and courage (is that the word I’m looking for?) to actually do this. I do have a girl in mind.

Okay back to last night. I gathered enough wood that I thought would last me a good day and a half. As I sat by the fire I noticed that the fire was spreading to my pile of wood but I was too lazy and said fuck it. So yeah most of my pile burned and I only had enough to have a fire in the morning. (Note: I have a history of being so lazy to the point that it reaches self harm. Here I let my wood pile burn up instead of of cutting the fire off which wouldn’t of taken much work. Another example is in my last apartment I was cold a bunch of nights in bed and needed an extra blanket. I had an extra blanket but it was on my chair and I never thought about it until I was in bed. Always said fuck it, getting the blanket ten feet away would be too much work, so would just try fall asleep. Often laid awake cold for quite a while. I was cold like that at night for months until my ex finally pulled the blanket off the chair for me one day. Slept much better after that.)

Last night was pretty cool though. I was still scared of noises in the woods since the dark doesn’t let me see into them. Every few minutes I would say in my gruffest, but obviously wobbly and scared voice, things like “Stay away now;” “I mean it, stay the fuck away;” and if I heard a branch snap in some direction I’d be like “that means you too.” I also said shit like “come here and I’ll fucking kill you,” (a total faux threat since obviously I refuse to participare in any harm done to animals — I’d be running away like a hen.) (Note: I was a dipshit vegetarian pacifist at the time and obviously was buying into my hippie ideals a bit too much here. Come off sounding buku conceited.) I backed up my murder threat by basically saying I’d whack them with a stick of fire, and that they’d probably still eat me anyway. It’s funny that I’m a vegetarian committed to not causing any harm to shit, yet I’m scared as fuck of wild life. Maybe I’ll include something about my fear of mice when I blog this shit out. (Note: I never did blog any of this until now, five years later. Beside this part in the margins I’ve written “Use Nolanhead poem.” I have no idea what the Nolanhead poem is. Sorry, folks.)

So yeah I yelled out in all directions that for the animals to stay away, and did that until I went to bed. I’m glad I live in the nowhere of m North Dakota because my neighbors drive loud shitty trucks and hearing them last night was a comfort. I could also hear some dogs over in Minnesota barking. So yeah I just laid on the ground, resuming my nice thoughts about cool nothing random shit, moved up to the chair when I got scared of noises in the woods, and then got ready for bed.

Because I practically froze last night knew I had to bundle up. And since I brought no warm clothing or blankets, had to improvise. Ended up stripping down to my underwear, and then wrapped toilet paper around myself like mummy bandaging. Did my legs first, put on socks, then my pajama pants. The toilet paper didn’t work so hot and mainly fell to my shins despite having snugly tucked it into my pajama waist. I then put my t-shirt on and wrapped both my arms. That worked fairly well. After that I wrapped around my t-shirt going from roughly my waist to my chest. This stayed in nicely. I then put on my thin long sleeved work shirt to keep it all pressed to my body. Also tucked my pajama ankles into my socks. I threw the other unmade tent over my tent in the hole to act as insulation, put on a pair of gloves, then climbed inside my unmade tent in the hole. (Note: Throughout these journals I consistently misspell “hole” as “whole.” How embarrassing.)

I got in there, bringing the toilet paper with me in case I needed more insulation (I used half a roll) and tried to zipper up the screen entrance of my tent. Since the other tent was over mine I had no light coming in, and wearing the gloves made it nearly impossible to find the zippers. After fumbling around with them for several minutes while laying in a back aching position I took the gloves off and got the tent zipped. The ground was much more comfy than it was the night before. I was, and I hate saying this because of freezing the night before, but I was hot. Too hot actually. I took my gloves off and undid a few buttons on my over-shirt, exposing my mummy chest. But it was still too hot, and too stuffy to be able to properly breathe. I partially unzipped the tent and on the second try, got the tent I used as a blanket to only come up to my chest so I could breathe through the screen of my tent. This brought the temperature back to near perfect and I even undid another button or two on my over-shirt.

So I lay there that night in my coffin-grave all wrapped up like a mummy corpse. Heard a few noises but I recognized them as being a dragonfly or me moving in the tent or the fire or something flopping in the river. From when I crawled in the tent last night to when I fell asleep was probably an hour and a half. I slept the entire time but probably only got about five hours of sleep since it was early morning when I awoke. (Note: I don’t remember ever having a peaceful night of sleep in the hole but apparently I did.)

Okay I’m going to be done writing for the day since dusk is near and I need wood for the fire. I like how this journal from day 3 was about night 2. And I didn’t even get to my drowning. Anyway, I still feel woozy from almost dying twice, so I’m just gonna chill. Hopefully I’ll finally do that inventory tomorrow. Night!

 

Your Mummy Narrator, GABFRAB:

You can see some of the toilet paper sticking out of my sleeve here.

P.S. So yet again I was plagued with thoughts of Vanessa my first girlfriend. Some of the things I described with her are things I’ve experienced again with a different breakup. ‘Tis interesting the ways I change and the ways I stay exactly the same, especially in my plagued thoughts and coping mechanisms.

It’s interesting that I almost drowned, yet never got around to journaling that bit. I guess I started my journal too late that night and wanted to keep it chronological, but one would think I’d want to be scribbling down every thought possible about almost getting carried off in the river. Guess tales of wrapping myself in toilet paper and talking to my cardboard box were more important. I forgot that I talked to the box some. That was kinda fun. Obviously I don’t speak to cardboard boxes most days, but this was an exception. A fun exception. I know I was being goofy with everything involved with that box, yet at the same time I was serious and it was important to me. I wanted to know what interacting with something inanimate in sexual and intellectual ways would be like. It was a cool experiment and I’m glad I did it, even if the world writes me off as a cardboard fucker from now on.

I really noticed some hippie type thoughts in this one. The idea of not hurting an animal even if it were killing me, trying to become one with my inner voice and stuff. I look at it now and think I was a bit ridiculous, but also long for that sense of optimism I had. I was much more of an idealist then. Had a much happier disposition and was considerably less cynical. End result: way more friends and a better life. Kind of makes me think I’d rather be a little more hippie connect to the earth type than the bitter lonesome type I am now. Don’t think I could go back to that state of mind though. At twenty you’re just getting into the college groove and it’s easy to get caught up in that thought process while forgetting the world outside of campus. I changed a ton between eighteen and twenty. Changed a ton again between twenty and twenty three. Just turned twenty five and am different than twenty three. But not as markedly as those other shifts. The ways I am different in my last change are hopefully the things I’m working on to be a better person. Looking back on this actually made me a bit hopeful for myself as a decent human which is something I haven’t been in years but want to be again. Want to recapture age twenty happiness and optimism, with twenty five year old knowledge, experience, and sense of the world. Maybe I’ll need to go live in the woods and rape a box in order for me to get better. We’ll see how that goes.

I’ve been enjoying listening to Warpaint a lot lately. Maybe you guys will like them too:

My last.fm: http://www.last.fm/user/nolannolannolan

Day four journal will be up in a couple days, folks. ‘Til then, well…

STAY FUNKY. STAY SYNCHRONIZED. Have a great week, y’all.

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