It's really late at night right now, but I don't want to go to bed, so I'm writing here again. I'm currently sitting in my cold, dark basement, and the only light is the computer screen. I used to be scared to use the computer this late with all the lights turned out. For some reason, I was always super paranoid that someone was going to spy on me from the window that's behind me. Sometimes I still get nervous, but I know it's silly. Who would spy on someone like me anyway?
I found some stuff today. I was by this river that's near my house, which I'm going to call Lucy's River even though that's not the real name of it. My blog, my rules, my names. Anyway, I found a licence plate that looked like it was from a boat, and a baseball. I'm more excited about the baseball. I almost didn't see it, because it was so dirty. When I did see it, I decided to pick it up and inspect it. I actually wrote a short story about it, since that's something I like to do in my spare time. I'll type it here.
She had found the baseball when she was walking by a riverbank. It was just sitting there, yellowed with mud, a sad little thing. Still, an unusual find, and not one she was willing to turn away from.
She picked the baseball up to inspect it, turning it over in the palm of her hand. Despite the yellow tinge and the bits of brown stuff caked onto parts of it, it was a tough looking baseball. She knew at once that it must be very durable. She sniffed the brown stuff and decided it was dirt. Looking the baseball over, she found three letters written on in in green ink. "IAP," it read. Or was the I really a J?
It couldn't be a J, she decided, because Js were curved at the bottom, not angled. Anyway, she could see traces of the faded part of the letter I that were still there. So who was IAP?
She didn't think about it much at first. When she got home, the first thing she did was run to the kitchen sink. She grabbed a sponge, and scrubbed the heck out of the apple-sized ball until all the caked-on grime was gone. As she scrubbed, all the dirt that had made her sniff the baseball before came off easily. The baseball turned white again as she scrubbed, except for a few spots near the red stitched parts. She decided not to bother anymore with cleaning, so she rinsed off the soap and dried the baseball with a paper towel.
Sometimes I write stories about myself in third person just for fun. I like writing. This blog is proof of that. My cat is blocking the screen. He just tried to murder my hand. I love my cat, but sometimes he really pisses me off.
I just realized how easily this blog could be mistaken for some kind of online diary. No, it's not an online diary. I already have a real diary. This is just a hobby. I don't really know how to explain what this blog is to me. It's not exactly a blog, but it's not a diary either. Nobody even reads it, so I could make it my diary if I wanted to, but I don't. The purpose of this blog is to give me something to do when I'm bored, but that's not the blog itself. It's hard to describe what I'm trying to say. These posts are a by-product of this blog doing its job by keeping me occupied and out of boredom's reach. I guess that's the best way to describe it.
There's not much more to be said on the matter. I bid thee farewell.
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