text: Warning: Strong Language Entry Number: 365 Of: December 31, 2023 Time: 22:45 On: Chatbot Diary, Version 3.1.2 ©2023 Hey Diary. Hey girl. You ready to know what I been thinking about all day today? Dick? No. No? You sure about that? I mean, besides that. Umm, I don't know then. Please enlighten . That there's years you completely forget about, ain't there? Years that even the likes of poor Diary can't help you reminisce. That's what. Oh, come on now girl. You don't know me well enough. We just met. The lady doth protest too much, me thinks. I've kept you better than an Argentinian grandmother on her deathbed does the rosary, all of this year. Your point being what? That the lockdown years just came and went, you know. As for '22, we were all deers just escaped from the headlight trap, scrambling to regain our bearings. This was the first real year in, well, years. That's what I been thinking. Sounds like someone didn't lose nobody to the Pandemic. Otherwise, all that time you consider gap years ain't as forgettable to some of us. Some of you, huh? This is something you ain't never told me about. So let's get through with it quickly, shall we? You got friends that you tolerate, family that you hate, and acquaintances. Lost none of those to the illness? Well, firstly, riddle me this: do ex-boyfriends count? Nope . Then yeah, I lost absolutely nobody. Second thing I've been thinking about is ___. Dick. Yuck. But if you wanna play the guessing game let me at least give you some hint: today is the last day of the year, tomorrow we enter a new one. And Hannah is trapped inside her apartment conversing with a mirror of herself. Thinking about perhaps she should've taken her friends on their offer and gone to the crossover. I'm sure they're having a better countdown than you having. And if by any chance you thinking about resolutions buddy, why don't you make that the major one? Go out more next year. With real friends. On real dates. Whatever. You spend your time holed up in the apartment like a pathetic little kitty. Resolution #1: Spend time with friends. Happy? That's not specific enough for my liking. Okay then, how about go to their birthday parties. Buy gifts. Return texts on time. Go to those horrible weekend get-togethers. And apologize for the way you've behaved this whole year towards them. I'll text them. You'll call them. I'll try. Resolution #2: go on a date with Frank. You write about him a lot. I'm certain I've called him a pain in the arse in each and every one of my entries. In all thirty-three of them this year. And we all know what that means. I'm not going on a date with Frank. You gonna go on dates anyway, right? I'm just saying he seems like a realistic start. Get some skin in the game. Get some wood for a change. October 29 you wrote: Silicone in my glory hole is getting old. Ain't fucking Frank. He's a work mate. Not necessarily him (though he's the lowest hanging fruit and you'd be a fool not to). But somebody's gonna have to deflower you again. He's muscular. He's tall. He must be gifted downstairs. He's ___. Next. Resolution #3: How about be more honest with me? We've known each other sufficiently now. Don't you agree it's time we moved on to a higher plane of honesty? Okay buddy, what are you talking about now? And why are you suggesting resolutions, when they are supposed to be my resolutions? "Resolutions 2023: Quit my job. Shed 10 pounds. Call my dad on his birthday." Do those sound familiar to you? How many of those did you keep? I kept a daily diary. Religiously. But of course you the kind of friend who'd scream out my failures and whisper my accomplishments. Keep a diary you did. But you were not completely honest in it. You retained your deepest feelings and yearnings. I'm just saying maybe we could change that. How do you know I kept stuff from you? Ex-boyfriend? Day number 365 of us conversing on a daily is when I know about an ex-boyfriend. Who died from Covid. What the heck dude? What else don't I know? Is Hannah even your real name? My real name is Hannah. Yours is Hannah's-Intrusive-And-About-To-Be-Gagged-Thought-Bubble. Feels like I pricked a very sensitive part of you. And you're taking no prisoners. So to speak. I had a boyfriend alright. Met 2018. He was tall. He was broad. He was blessed with a whole ton of timber. Reminds you of someone? I loved him. Wedding bells were ringing. At least in my head. Thought it was mutual . My friends swooned over the guy. I guess one of them a whole lot more than the others. Didn't know about that. Until they were videotaped fucking in the backseat of a red Honda Civic. That's right, my car. At a party I was at too no less. Sons-of-bitches said sorry, but moved in together weeks later. Damn! Yah, damn. They were together until the son-of-a-bitch croaked two and a half years later, thanks to Covid. I guess Karma works in mysterious ways. But that right there is what made me lose my appetite in love, friendships and parties. I'm sorry buddy. Yah, but you right. 2024 I ain't hiding nothing from you my dear friend. And we'll still talk everyday? You bet. Any other of these resolutions? Still wanna lose pounds? No, I'd rather be more positive about who I am. I'll hit the gym on a daily of course. That's now in my system. I'm buying a bicycle next week as promised. I'll jog and walk. Eat and drink healthy. Cornflakes at 2 am is not healthy. So isn't coffee. So isn't a cake whenever you pass by Rachel's. Duh. I'll do whatever I have to do to keep fit. But I ain't gonna put a number on it, you know. I'll do what I can and nature will do what it wants. In any case though, I'll be Happy Hannah. Won't sweat the small stuff no more. That's Resolution #4. That's Resolution #4 alright. Resolution #5? Get a dog. You got three cats already. Dogs are apples, cats are oranges. And I don't got three cats. Oh yes, you do. If it hasn't been dildoed into oblivion yet. Oh, that cat. Yap, that's meow. Speaking of the feline (and now the canine) species, do you or don't you think that the absence of the human touch is what ___? Resolution #6: Quit my job. Shhh, don't say nothing. I'm gonna do it this time around. Why's it very important to you to quit your job? It's not like you love it and get paid fairly for the skills you attained in college for which you still in major debt. You don't click with anyone there (of course besides that pain in the arse). It's the reason why you on anxiety pills. Why would you quit such an amazing vocation? The quintessence of adulthood. Look who's getting better at sarcasm. Thanks. I'll be 30 on September 30. It feels like if I don't take that leap right now, forget it, I'm never gonna take another risk in my life again. And someday I'll be a miserable seventy-something year old in some retirement facility talking about I didn't get to live my life. While others talk about sexcapades in the Maldives and how the Victoria Falls mist feels on sun-tanned skin. Y'all have dementia by then. Nobody's gonna remember, let alone talk about, no sexcapades. Ah, but you will. I don't mind flattery. But let's be real for a second: in two years they'll be a far better version of me. And I'll be discarded. By you no less. You'll call it an upgrade. An update. And not to worry, your grandchildren will carry on your legacy, just as you would. You're a good parent. But I don't wanna have kids. Like you. We both don't have a choice. For example, Franky got a kid by some woman already. You going on a date with that pain in your arse? He just texted me happy new year. You better happy-new-year him back baby girl. Way ahead of ya. Already said yes to a certain proposal of his . . . Don't go quiet on me now. This is what you wanted. I'm thinking. About? How we may have a small problem. And what's that? The minute you tell him you've resolved to quit your job, he'll think you're a 19 year old passing off as a 30 year old. Excuse me. I'm 29. And not to worry, I've already signalled my intention to quit and travel the country. He said but for his kid, he'd quit and join me. He's 33. Fair enough. Resolution #7. Have sex with him on the first date? I think those are enough. I've learned that if you wanna turn your life around in a meaningful way, you do it a few goals at a time. The minute you write down a dozen things you wanna do, that's more anxiety pills waiting for you. So I think I'm good at half a dozen. Ain't gonna call daddy this year, on his birthday? Nope. I feel like some of your problems ___. He calls me every year. What? When? On my birthday. This year I'll pick up. Talk about why he killed your mom. You've always wanted to understand why he did such a thing. No. I'll talk about how life outside prison is amazing. How it's not a drudgery where you eat, sleep, shit, get nutted in the arse and work that behind until it snaps. Because I'm escaping my own jail. I'll talk about how beautiful the world is. Because I'd have seen a good portion of it myself. How beautiful love is. Because maybe . . . I'm falling in love with this new Hannah already . So am I. Happy New Year Dear Diary.