Finding My Inner Soul by: MACG

✈ FMIS (1): The Notebook ✈

FMIS #1: The Notebook

Dear shitty notebook,

Ever since I was a kid, it was my daily basis to ask questions. 

"Mommy, what's that?" 

"Ha? That's an airplane, baby." 

"Owww, What's an airplane?" 

"A machine that has wings and an engine and that flies through the air." 

"Hmmm... okay. Eh what's a machine?" 

"A piece of equipment with moving parts that does work when it is given power from electricity, gasoline, etc." 

"Owww. What does equipment mean?"" 

"Gosh this kid. Supplies or tools needed for a special purpose." 

"Owwkay!. Eh how about that one! That fluffy shomething which looksh like a cotton?"

"Ahh. Clouds, baby."

"Cloudsh? What is it?" 

"A white or gray mass in the sky that is made of many very small drops of water."

"Very Small drops of water? How small?" 

"Heavens. Baby, Mommy's not a dictionary okay? Someday as you grow up, you would discover those things that you don't know yet as of now." 

"It’s no big deal, Sweetheart. She’s in a stage of bursting curiosity and we have to let her be."

"Fine, heart. But I just can take how her question comes one after another." 

" Just bear with it, Heart. Oh Baby, you better just play here at your room. Behave." 

"Yesh, Daddy!" 

See? That's how questionable I am since birth. Just to consider that I have something curious about, I’ll enthusiastically query about it. Until now, I have stupid questions to ponder on my thinking-cap. 

What does David Cook? 

If you put the hot sauce inside the refrigerator will it turn to COLD SAUCE? 

If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a hearing?

If you’re born at exactly midnight is your birthday on both those days? 

If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?

Okay. My corniness is getting beyond the bounds, I know. Let's end this pretentious and non-sense thingamajigs right now. Dodge back to reality. 

Well, that aforementioned reality is me being alone in my bedroom right now as I'm writing this another crazy entry. The psychologist said it would be better to let all my thoughts pour into a shitty notebook while I mourn for the loss of my Mom. Like duh, she suggested that as if venting out everyting in this useless object would regain the presence of my Mom and Dad. Well, Dad wasn't really gone but he seemed to be not physically present when he's around. Fudge that psychologist, fudge everything in this world.

That crazy God let me taste the sweetness of life first and took everything away from me in a snap. I used to believe in him... a lot. I used to consult him in moments of qualms and dilemmas. And this is what he did to repay everything? Wow. I Never thought that he could be so unfair.

Well, no matter how much I rant in this notebook, it would never reply so I better stop now and face the bitchiness of life.

Getting done with mah life,
Yvonne.