September 1st, 2025

September 1st, 2025

Dear Diary, 

Things are spiraling, Diary.  I cannot catch a break!  First we ran out of gas.  That was ages ago, and when Dmitry started blinking in morse code (which he knows I never paid attention in the naval academy, I was just there cause Cassandra from Phi Beta Kappa read my career tarot and said it involved lots and lots of sailors), and rapidly darting his eyeballs toward the oars sticking out of the emergency dinghy, I almost fainted.  You know I have PTSD from sorority row club.  When I bribed that robot club simp into making me a solar powered oar, I had no idea it would fry Jessica like that.  And Melanie.  And Jaime.  RIP. 

Anyway, so I've been rowing for God knows how long now, following the sun and the moon, like Magellan.  Until last night, when a raging typhoon beset our tiny, tiny, tiny boat!  I have no idea where the sun or the moon even are anymore, so that's hopeless.  I tied my (ample) brazier to one of the oars, and propped it between the spokes on Dmitry's wheelchair.  I had considered throwing him overboard to appease Poseidon, but he's definitely not a virgin so that wouldn't work, and the baby is long gone, so no dice there either. 

I'm below deck now, just took my melatonin.  It's Dmitry's turn to row or sail or whatever anyway.  Goodnight Diary, hope we reach America soon!  xoxo