This is the fifth and final day journal entry of my experience of living in a dirt hole that these posts recount:
Dirt Hole Crash Pad Part 1:
Dirt Hole Crash Pad Part 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.
Dirt Hole Journal Day 5
Day 5: I think I have to take a shit (and get drunk).
Well it’s day five, but first left me talk about night four.
(This is actually at least a half hour later. I went and took what was my first and hopefully last shit in the woods, but I’ll get to that later.)
Okay so night four. Last night I kept with what I’d done earlier in the day — lay down and not leave my campsite. Never left camp once yesterday. (Damn, it’s beginning to rain now.) Laid on the ground for most of the night with my mind shut off. Haven’t even been thinking of pointless things. Just been laying in this comatose state. Feel like I’m a patient in a hospital: always sleeping, in a different environment, on a bed that’s not my own; I stare upwards most of the day, don’t talk, don’t leave me room aka camp, can’t control the lights above me, not eating what I’m used to, bored, etc.
Hadn’t felt bored up until sometimes yesterday, but last night as I lay there I went on auto pilot. Wasn’t even daydreaming like I usually do. I’d say that roughly out of the last thirty seven hours, nearly thirty four or thirty five of them have been spent laying in dirt. Laying all day made me even more tired and bored, though now on day five I feel pretty good again.
So back to last night. Got the wood ready for a little fire, but kept it unlit until night came around. (Note: Between unlit and until I put a little arrow and the word cool. Apparently I though this wordplay was interesting. It’s not.) I didn’t even feel
the like having a fire but wanted one to help keep animals away.
Also sometime yesterday is when I started feeling pretty horny, and the definite need to masturbate. I imagined fucking BLANK AND BLANK — fantasies with no masturbation. (Note: This is the one time I’m breaking my rule of not censoring myself with these journals. I still know both these girls so am not going to put their names on here. Sorry, folks.) As soon as 10:30 hits on Friday the ninth morning, I’m going to masturbate and have an orgasmic orgasm. It’s going to be my morning breakfast.
By the time night rolled around I didn’t even really feel horny; felt like a thoughtless object laying in dirt. (Damn the rain droplets stopped, but now there’s tons of thunder and the sky is getting very dark at like two in the afternoon. I do not want rain!) So yeah I laid down until darkness hit.
There was a tractor in the field by me. The sound of that kept me company. Sounds of the real world like loud pickups in the middle of the night, the tractor, and Xouirteeee barking a half mile away at home are my only real friends out here. it just feels so good when I’m laying in the tent at night and hear some redneck’s far-off loud pickup — a noise I usually despise.
I’ve thought a good bit about what I’ll do when I get back, not that I hate being out here, just it’ll be nice when it’s over. I’m not so sure that I’m going to go crazy like I hoped, but these next three and a half days will decide that. Anyway what I’ll do when I get home: Find Brittany (Note: My younger sister. I have two sisters but whenever I refer to my sister on this blog I mean her unless otherwise noted), and have her take pictures of me in the bag. Then have her come out to my camp and help me bring in the rest of my stuff which may take two trips. (The thunder sounds really intimidating, like the scorched sky from the first Matrix.) After we get the shit back I’m going to take the longest most satisfying shower ever. Then brush and floss and generic Listerine my teeth because my breath is beginning to taste like shit. (Shit I may have to stop and try huddle under my flat piece of shit tent because I think I’m going to get rained on. Also, I feel rather peaceful once again.)
(Okay it’s like forty five minutes later. I got rained on. Will write about it when I chronologically get to that point.)
Okay so after cleaning my mouth I’m going to pre-heat the oven and drive into Manvel. Going to check the post office to see if I have any packages (Note: I had some pen-pals and also ordered a bunch of CDs for my South Carolina trip), then go visit work and get some curly fries and the largest fucking strawberry shake ever. Going to have someone at home put my pizza in the oven. If I run into some of my G’z I’ll talk to them, then go home and enjoy my victory pizza covered in curly fries as I drink my shake and check Facebook and Xanga. You know, the usual shit. (Note: Obviously I hadn’t changed much since being deprived of these things only made me want to go into a gluttonous indulgence of them all. So much for trying to lose weight. I used to have ridiculous food fantasies like this. I’ve talked about some of them before, but this one really is tops. It’s like I hated my body so much I wanted to inject it with as much grease as possible after the cleanse that was this camping trip. Also, I hope I wasn’t seriously planning on eating right after brushing my teeth. That is so icky. Toothpaste kills all good food flavor.) Oh yeah actually after I clean my mouth I’m going to weigh myself and see how much weight I’ve lost. After that I’m going to kick back and relax and nap and pack my shit for South Carolina.
So back to last night. Got fire going and sat in my chair choking down as much of the gross colada juice I could. Was feeling pretty tired. Oh yeah I noticed when I was putting wood on the fire that I stink really bad. My armpits are putting off the stench that an old man who never showers does. I now understand why the flies have started to bother me. (Note: One of my goals on this trip was to get as dirty as possibly, naturally, so I forewent deodorant.)
The fire died down so put my over shirt on and got ready to crawl into the tent. Oh yeah one more thing I remembered: I figured out a way to get that dried up dirt off my arms and legs without having to painfully pull all my hair out. I simply scratched it and the mud crumbled. Some parts still stuck on so had to swipe as if I had a cat paw and that hurt because hair got pulled. I scratched the dirt off and scratched my bites and my entire body for twenty to twenty five minutes. It felt good.
Crawled into my decompressed tent bag in the grave hole and pulled the other tent over mine, up to about my chest. I fixed where I rest my head so it isn’t so uneven, and that made it as comfortable as hard dirt can be. But I was still bothered by being hot. Actually sweat in there and had to undo most of my over shit. Guess that other tent acts as really good insulation. So yeah I was hot but other than that my body felt fine. I thought I heard noises a few times so told the woods to fuck off and stay away. (Note: I apparently got less scared of the woods’ noises as the days went on. Guess that was good that I was able to adapt to that and stop being such a wimp.) Thought I smelled shit like it was on my tent but came to realize that it was just my body and breath’s stench filling my little pockets of air.
Probably laid awake for four hours before finally falling asleep, thinking of virtually nothing the entire time. Guess I just wasn’t tired enough since I spent 95% of my day on the ground. Finally at maybe 4 AM fell asleep and woke around dawn. Then slept a little more until about eight in the morning. Got up, took my daily picture, made a fire, and went back to sleep on the ground.
I’ve gotten used to not being able to sleep in the tent and rising when the sun does to have my fire and nap. The sun pulls me up as if I were on a string. So yeah I lay half asleep until around one. The flies bothered me a ton. I must really stink. After two hours of them biting I finally put on my over shirt. (Note: This is very typical of me. I will suffer for long periods of time before taking the simple action needed to stop the suffering. I don’t know why I’m like that. I guess I find that a certain amount of suffering is easier than to get up and do something about it. Also, when I was typing about putting on my over shirt I accidentally typed it as “over shit.” That would not have kept the flies away, me thinks.)
After waking I called and left a message with mom and began journaling. Was thinking how I’d probably have to shit tomorrow on day six since I hopefully am going to drink tonight. Usually the morning after drinking taking a shit is half of a hangover cure. I’ve been looking forward to drinking out here to alleviate some boredom and also because it’s been since February or about three and a half months since I drank. Figure it’ll be relaxing and bring me into day six where I can pretty much start the countdown of leaving. (Note: I must have been getting kind of tired of this experiment since multiple times now I’ve talked about when I was to finally get to depart.) This morning at 10:30 was the official halfway mark. (Note: When writing Dirt Hole Crash Pad I thought I was to stay out there for six days and seven nights, but apparently the plan was seven days and eight nights.)
Doing good but I’m going to a do a body evaluation tomorrow or the next day. I’ll write about how my body is holding up. (Note: I am a medical doctor.) My mind feels fine and almost active again.
Was thinking about shitting then I took a few swigs of juice. This must have activated something because I had to shit bad
write right then. It had been four and a half days since I’d gone shit.
Grabbed the shovel, a packet of wet ones, two sets of plastic gloves, and a half roll of toilet paper that was left over from my mummy wrapping. Wound up by a tree seventy five feet away. Thought the smell of shit might attract animals since dogs sniff each others’ shit, but didn’t want to get much further from camp because there were weeds everywhere.
Took off all my clothes except my over shirt because I wanted to have it protect my back as I leaned against the trunk. Realized the shirt was too long, and since I didn’t want shit on it, walked back to camp and got my sixth grade basketball tee.
I put it o Walked through the woods completely naked so if anyone boated by they would’ve seen Nolan Caveman walking in the unbuff, buff.
(Okay a sidenote. I realize this journal is turning into cataloging of events which I hoped to avoid, but I’ve yet to feel the slightest bit crazy. There isn’t much going through my mind, but I have some notes I want to write down separate from this.) (Note: This was in the journal, not an aside from present Gabfrab.)
Got back to my toilet. Tree had its own circular basin going around so didn’t have to dig a hole. Sat against the trunk like I was in a chair and began shitting. It mainly all came out in one big thick round soft turd. Usually my shit is kind of dark brown and crusty looking, but this was kind of wet and more lifelike. (Note: I apologize, folks. Also, lifelike? I used to have a running joke with my ex that whenever she asked what I was writing about I told her it was the story of some feces that became self aware after reading a book. I guess I have a history of humanizing fecal matter.) I wish that my penis was as big and thick around as that piece of shit. Maybe I should have stuck my dick into it and let it crust around my cock. (Note: Again, I apologize. Also, if it’s not clear, I was making a joke in my journal to myself when I wrote that.)
As I shat I had two gloves on each hand and held my ass cheeks apart to let the shit come out like it was a kid riding down a waterslide. Flies in the area must have some instinct because within a few seconds of shitting, like six of them buzzed around and went for the pile. Within a minute there was a whole fly arm feasting and not bothering me at all. Apparently I do not smell
like shit yet worse than shit. Yet. (Note: The two gloves idea came from a friend I worked with at a gas station. He always insisted this was the only way to stay sanitary while cleaning the bathrooms. My method of staying sanitary was that I never cleaned those bathrooms. Ever.)
Took the wet ones and began to wipe and throw them onto my shit. Was a few feet from the tree basin at this time. Had been feeling sort of sick for the past day, but after that shit I felt wonderful. Wiped my ass with the wipes, and for a while thought I had to shit a bit more. Tried to squeeze more shit out but none came. So I wiped my ass for a few minutes, getting the wet wipes well up in there to clean my ass tube out. Shaking it all about. For a while I squatted and with a finger sort of fucked the wet one into my ass. Also some of the time I bent over and wiped/stuck the wet one up in my hole. Felt good in there. The wet ones are pretty big and though at first I did one swab per, I soon spaced it out on the cloth and could dip two or three times per wet one. (Note: This is embarrassing haha.)
When done I wiped the outer rim of my ass very, very well to ensure that I cleaned all of the shit off. Threw
the last of the that wet one onto the pile of shit. Maybe used fifteen or twenty to make my ass all nice again. Did one swipe of my ass with the toilet paper for no particular reason, and then threw on threw my gloves on the pile, then put my clothes on. Went and got my shoes and kicked dirt over the wet shit and wet ones and plastic gloves. Flies flew away but I think some got buried. I was going to light the shit on fire but thought that would be gross. (Note: And going into extreme detail of how I fucked my asshole with my finger and a wet one wasn’t?)
I hate littering but didn’t have much choice here, and didn’t want any animals coming around to sniff (or eat!) my shit. Went back to camp and using wet ones and soap and an entire gallon of distilled water, I washed my hands but did not clean any further than my wrists. (Note: I’ve noticed throughout these journals that I was extremely wasteful with my supplies.)
That is probably the only time I will wash any part of my body during this trip. I want to come back and be really gross. Like my hair is crusty and feels like a thick cotton shirt, but I’m going to have it like that until I get back. Hope my hair doesn’t get ruined. (Note: I was very obsessed with my hair back then. I had an elaborate showering ritual that involved shampooing my locks three times, combing them in the shower, then conditioning for at least five minutes. Shit was beautiful. Shit was hideous.) I’m not going out of my way to get dirty, but it’ll be interesting to look in the mirror at the natural buildup when I get back. I’m guessing I’ll just look like a slightly thinner and more dirt encrusted Nolan, but not too bad. (Note: In my writing I have a tendency to refer to myself in the third person. I’m not sure why. I have a theory though that I somehow think this is cute. But it’s not cute, Gabfrab, no it’s not.)
When I got done with the shit stuff I began journaling. There began to be a ton of thunder not too far away from me, and the sky became very dark. I figured it was going to rain but didn’t realize how soon. Droplets began after a failed beginning a few minutes before. Then it started to get a little harder. A few minutes before I had both the tents out of the grave hole, up on the ground, and put my cover tent over the one laying flat on the ground with my cover tent having its floor facing the sky to act as a tarp. Was thinking okay I better put my journal away and as soon as I set it in the cooler, the rain started pouring.
Went from big droplets to a big drizzle in only a few seconds. I hurriedly threw on my over shirt, put a garbage bag weighted down by a water and a juice over the lid, grabbed both my gloves and what I thought was both of my socks, then crawled under the cover tent and atop the ground one as fast as I could. Pulled the cover tent over my head and held it down tight to the other one. Was human meat in a tent sandwich. Lay there on my side for at least half an hour as the rain poured down hard. The thunder hit like a haunted drum. That thunder was fucking loud and constant.
Was a bit worried about getting hit by lightning but I was flat on the ground and the only metal in the tent was the zippers which I figured couldn’t be more lightning attractive than like someone with a million piercings on their face. Didn’t care so much about the rain and only worried that my journal and camera might get wet in the cooler. At one point water leaked into the tent since the bottom one stuck out more, but I just pulled up the ground once to act as a wall and then curled up. (Note: Sorry for the endless confusing descriptions of how I arranged my two tents. Even with having lived through it I don’t know what I’m trying to say half the time involved these tents.)
After a half hour of hard rain it quit and moved away, but I stayed in the tent for ten more minutes to wait for the follow up drizzle to end. Think this proves my theory that clouds are invading alien spaceships. A spy cloud probably saw me write it yesterday and since they knew I was onto them, mobilized and attacked me and my hair with their rain lasers. Then flew over to Minnesota to blow up the Metrodome or some shit.
Crawled out of the tent. Light drips of rain still leaked from the sky. Ground was wet and I saw that in my rush I’d left my shoes and one sock out. Wiped off my chair with the sock and began to journal which is where I am now. The rain kind of put me out of the mood for drinking since this was supposed to be a festive day. I’m going to go gather wood and when I’m done with that and if it’s before 5 PM, and if I feel like it, then I’m going to drink my wine. (Note: I always come up with endless excuses to get out of drinking. I like to drink when I actually do it, but kind of suck at getting started I guess.) Kick back and execute my plan for the box after I’m drunk.
I’ll write more tomorrow, or more tonight if I don’t drink. Nolan outties. Czar czar! (Note: I have no idea what this was supposed to mean.)
Oh one more note: all the shit in the cooler stayed dry and now the sun is out and drying up my muddy camp. Hope the wood isn’t too wet to burn.
Oh yes one more note. As I was getting sandwiched by the tents during the rain, I was twizzling the back of my hair and was like “hmm, that feels like a worm.” So I pulled the soft thing and sure enough there was a fat green treeworm in my hair. It didn’t even bother me, but I threw it out of the tent. Probably got it from laying in the dirt. I wonder what else is living on my body. I know I’ve seen a few spiders crawling around on my skin!
Your Rained Out Narrator, GABFRAB:
P.S. Okay so this was the final journal. I literally never touched it again for years. Am disappointed that I couldn’t even be bothered to write up the account of how I ended up leaving when the fake tornado came round. I guess this was partly because I left for South Carolina a few days after, but also partly because I am lazy. It feels incomplete. I think fun stuff was about to start happening.
Even though I was spending lots of time laying around, each day had its own charming moments. I really liked my thought process on God, my honesty with dealing with the pain of my breakup with Vanessa, describing yelling at the animals, my willingness to confront my flaws and try to change myself for the better.
Things I didn’t like in the journals were how I constantly refer to having thoughts on something but not explaining them, my over detailing of me taking a shit (mainly because people I know, including ex girlfriends, read this and it was a tad ridiculous), the fact that I spent so much time detailing my every movement instead of my thoughts, my wastefulness, seeing how bad parts of me haven’t changed in the past five years.
It’s interesting that I am embarrassed about me talking about going to the bathroom. Yet in other places on this blog I go into detail about very ugly things about my personality, mistakes I’ve made, things that make me a pretty shitty person (I’m working on these!), and sexual details from my life. I guess I don’t want people to think I’m not attractive, and obviously reading about me going to the bathroom will cause that reaction. I’m very vain and concerned about the opinions of strangers. Oftentimes I base more of my decisions in life around what a stranger will think of me than how the people near and dear to me will react. It’s not a good way to live. So I’m embarrassed about the shitting details, yet I felt it wouldn’t be right to delete that part from this journal. So there they are.
I talk about wanting to go crazy a lot. I thought that would’ve been fun. I imagine some of you read parts of this and thought I was already a bit off just from my actions or thoughts. But stuff like the cloud spaceships for example is just how my mind functions on a day to day basis. I’m always spacing out and fantasizing over weird shit. So much of my life has been spent in imagination, in neglect of the real world. ‘Tis one of my many flaws.
My dad stayed home from South Carolina but the rest of us went. It was a great trip. Spent weeks lounging and exploring. I read Catcher in the Rye for the first time on a South Carolina beach while looking out into the ocean. Also a cop asked me why I was eating the leaves off a tree (I was just chewing on them for fun.) While down there my dad took my camera to a local grocery store and had the photos developed for me. He mailed them to me when I was in Charleston. I posted them on Facebook and a kid I knew from college left me a comment saying he worked at that grocery store and was actually the one who developed them. I thought that was really cool. I spent a lot of time telling people about my adventure over that summer and fall, though haven’t really talked about it in years up until now. It’s just another thing in the list of shit I’ve done, and isn’t really one of my go to stories when I’m trying to entertain people. I guess looking back on it I don’t think it affected my life in the ways I hoped it would, and I don’t necessarily resonate with the person I was back then. So that story has remained locked up. But I hope you guys enjoyed it.
I do remember sophomore year of college hanging out at a party thrown by a girl I was crushing on and telling her and all these international students my dirt hole story. They were all impressed and said I’d done more living that week than loads of people do in years. I mean they were over blowing the significance of it, but it was cool to hear someone from Saudi Arabia tell me that. I like when people think I’m cool. I’m only able to achieve this with acquaintances though, as anyone who spends significant time around me figures out I’m an antisocial dork. That night with those people by the time I was drunk I was telling them about how I was afraid of the beavers chewing off my cob. Ah, apartment parties.
I just got out of a twenty eight day long drug study. I typed up all of these journals while in there. For some reason I found day five to be extra fascinating. (To me. I can understand how it wouldn’t be for you, faithful reader.) They turned our lights off when I was only a third of the way through and I ended up reading the journal in my bed in the half dark. It was really fun.
I haven’t kept a journal in years. I write in various places online, both publicly and anonymously. I guess that is now my form of journaling. During college when I took notes I always wrote little side notes about funny things happening in class, drew mini comics of the people in the room, or wrote down thoughts so that when I went back to study the notes they were like a mini time capsule of what was happening during that period. Made studying way more fun. I guess that was a small form of journaling too. But I don’t really see myself keeping a handwritten journal anymore. Electronic is the way to go. Though it is still fun to scribble ideas into an old notebook every now and then.
One last thing: I spent over an hour editing this journal and writing the P.S. Then somehow lost it all. So I apologize if this version sucked since it was done in frustration. Blame WordPress. Love Gabfrab. Thanks for enduring. Good blogs coming soon.