I'm not really sure what people normally post on blogs. I guess they're suppose to be like diaries or something, but I just can't understand why everyone wants a public diary. Aren't those suppose to be small books with locks that you hide under your pillow or in your sock drawer and pray your brother never finds? Besides that the only diaries that ever become famous are the ones in which the author has an exciting life. There is nothing exciting about my life. The most exciting thing that happened today was... well I'm not sure anything exciting happened today. Kaia (my puppy) chewed up my pillow, but that's normal. She likes pillows and is determined to ensure that I have nothing to rest my head on. I suppose it's better than eating the couch though; pillows are cheap to replace in comparison.
My friend Daven taught me how to do word wars. He won every time. I guess I'm a slow writer, or perhaps process ideas slower than Daven. Anyway, I wrote 229 words in 10 minutes, which amounted to an amusing character. Daven thinks I should continue the story. Unfortunately I don't know how to continue it. Ideas? Here's the start:
Henry was a quiet man. He always lived alone, traveled alone, worked alone, and ate alone. Everyone said he must be so lonely, but the truth was he never felt lonely; he just appreciated his space. He never wanted to live, travel, work, or eat with anyone, because people were generally annoying. With them came drama and stress. Henry never knew what to say when something went wrong, how to congratulate someone when something went right, or how to have a proper conversation. His latest failure to communicate came when he was standing in line at the grocery store.
“good afternoon sir,” the cashier said. “How are you today?”
Henry, not understanding the purpose in this question, replied, “I don’t see why you would care, we don’t know each other and most likely we will never see each other again. That information is not crucial to performing your job and I don’t understand why everyone wants to know how I’m doing. Paper please.”
The cashier remained silent aside from telling Henry the amount he owed and asking for his signature during the rest of his transaction. Due to uncomfortable conversations like these, Henry worked from home, made his own coffee and all his own food. The only person he ever had to communicate with was the grocery cashier on his weekly trips. This was the way Henry liked it.
After rereading it, i think it could use some revision too. I guess I'll work on that now...
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