Journal in this shithole of a world

Day 12

Just finished the last of the peanut butter. I never liked the stuff much before. It brought up too many memories of school. But I’ll tell you what, dear diary, I’ve no doubt that I’m going to miss it. The firdge is cleaned out, I threw everything out . Just pushed it for the Diddits to eat. It’s not their fault, they are just as the virus made them. Diddits. Stupid name. But I always had a hangup on lables. I could call them Zombies, I guess, but they don’t seem to be dangerous. They just walk around stuffing their faces with debris. Yeaterday I saw a Diddit eating fallen leaves.

I don’t think they’ll survive much longer. They look ragged, starved.

Two days ago I saw my first ex, Bradly. He is a Diddit now, too. So it’s a Diddit that I did. A done Diddit. Pretty pitiful humor right? But I guess I’m getting into this Castaway thing. Won’t be long before I start talking to Mister Wilson, my vollyball friend. God , I miss movies. Wouldn’t it be funny if Tom Hanks walks over here, Diddit or not?

Should I take those diddits out of their misery? Poor guys. I would definitely do this kindness for Tom Hanks. Brad, that jerk, can go on eating dead leaves. See if I care.

Day 23

I found a coconut in the supermarket. Had to push between a few diddits that were trying to eat the rotten fruit. It was just standing there, but I guess the diddits prefer softer stuff. Now I need to figure out how to open it. I love coconut.

Got a hammer, smashed the shell. Wow, got a splash of sour, spoiled coconut. Too late to eat, by far. I guess it was my fault that I had my hopes up. The diddits took the spoiled thing very happily though.

Maybe being a diddit is not so bad. Maybe they are so happy they don’t need to speak. Sometimes I see that they do have facial expressions. I saw an old lady-diddit today, in that supermarket, she was tearing apart some cardboard, and eating the pieces like it was nachos. She slightly raised one eyebrows suddenly. As if this was so good and she was having a moment. Or maybe I’m reading into it too much. Maybe I'm starving like the diddits and I'm just going crazy.

Day 42

I broke into an apartment, dear diary. But don’t judge me. I’m just hungry. People cleaned almost everything out of the shops whenit started, then died or turend to diddits. What can I do? I needs to gets ma' eats. Anyway, this apartment had a guitar. A fender stratocaster, no less. There is no juice to play it, but I played it dry. Just picking chords and listening to the soft music. God, I suck.

Wow, the owner had a jar of nutella. Fuck, did I have a party. Then as I was yumming away, and dying for a cold glass of milk, the owner of the house and the fender came in from another room. Diddit of course. Just looked at me blankly. And then, when he saw that the door was open, he ran out. I guess he was starving. Poor guy. Reminded me of someone, but I don’t remember who.

It’s strange. I don’t remember people's faces anymore. Show me a picture, and I won’t know if it was just a diddit or someone I cared about. This post-apocalypse is just depressing.

Day 43

Last night , dear diary, I slept in the fender Guy’s house. Had a sugar hi and I found he had some booze. Did shots and tried for the zillionth time to make out the chords for “life on mars”. Bowie tricked me again, with that key change, that I don’t get.

Fun thought: I may be the best guitar player on the planet right now. Now I have a hangover. But the guy also had some bottled water. So I made some coffee and finished off the nutella.

Walked by the park. The diddits ate half of it. Every bush and the lower branches of the trees are all gone. The path with the weeping willows, by the pond that I liked so much, is just gone. The diddits were even climbing the branches to get to the leaves. Ough.

Day 62

Dear diary. I just remembered that today is the day. A year ago today, my BF, the last one I had, Jeremy, released the virus. What started it all. The guy was cooking things in the basement, I came in and asked when the acid would be nice and ready to pop. And he said that he didn't even try making narcotics, just fucking with gene hacking. I laughed at him, used the name Jeromey that he doesn't like. I Told him that he wasn't cool. I dared him to make something cool. COOL.

He asked me what would be cool enough for little old me. I told him even that if he makes a doomsday device, something that would kill everybody, that would be cool. I told him I’ll blow him if he can do that. Well, he took it seriously. He cooked the killer batch and set the virus off. But it didn't work as quickly as he thought. days passed, and no one died. People didn't drop off in minutes like he predicted.

He got frustrated that it didn’t work. Then he made some acid for us and that was nice and trippy. And I blew him and he blew me and it was just the best. Only, six months later the diddits started popping up. People that didn't respond to much when you talked to them. Just walking around aimlessly. "living" off of the flora. Then more picked it up and more and more. Many never turned to diddits, they just died straight away. Jer died too. He didn't become a diddit. So now you know, dear diary, why I call them the diddits. Poor things. It's all on me.

I made this anniversary special. I broke into another apartment and found some whiskey. It was nice, but I think that with the way that I'm feeding myslef, it's a bit off. I shouldn't drink so much. oddly I feel cravings for lettuce. maybe it's vitamin deficiency, maybe I finally diddit.