The Tales of an Boring story

Dear Dia…(Yawning) ry.

December 15,  2024

Well, things have been fine so far. My ear is fully healed, and I’m back at the office. A few things have happened since my last entry, but honestly, I barely have the time to write anymore. That, and I’m pretty sure Daphne read my diary the other day.
 How do I know? I found orange smudges on the first page, and I never snack while writing. Daphne, on the other hand, eats like she’s fueling up for the apocalypse.

Anyway, let me just— (I casually turn around to check if anyone’s watching … and immediately knock over a cup of pens. They scatter dramatically across the floor. Someone coughs in the distance. Suspicious. Very suspicious.)

Let’s start with the office…We

“Max,” Stephen suddenly burst in holding a cup. “Can you tell me why this tastes like burnt despair?”

“Because you pressed the ‘double shot’ button four times,” I reply.

He took another sip. “I’m not throwing it out. I paid $3,000 for this thing. I’m drinking it,” he says and finally steps out.

(Ahem. Sorry, I had to compose myself after witnessing that tragedy.)

As I was saying, We recently got a new coffee machine, courtesy of Stephen, who decided our old one was “too depressing.” This new contraption is supposed to make artisanal espresso at the push of a button, but so far as you can see, all it’s done is brew confusion.

The other day, Diane, one of my regular clients tried to use the machine during her session. She pressed a button labeled “Cortado,” and the machine promptly hissed, sputtered, and shut down.

“What does Cortado even mean?” she asked, staring at the lifeless machine.

“It’s Spanish for ‘Cut.’ Appropriate, considering it just cut itself out of service,” I said.

Hmm… let’s see what else.

Right, then there’s Todd, the aforementioned Diane’s boyfriend. He’s still figuring out life after admitting he might not be into Diane, in the traditional sense. This week, Diane decided they needed a “fun bonding activity” and signed them up for a pottery class.

Todd showed up at my office covered in clay. “It’s official,” he said, plopping onto the couch. “I’m terrible at pottery and relationships.”

“Did Diane say that?” I asked.

“No, but her vase did. It’s flawless, Max. She’s making art, and I made… this.” He pulled out what looked like a misshapen ashtray.

“Maybe it’s abstract,” I offered.

“Or maybe I should stick to eating out,” he sighed.

“Are we still talking about pottery?” I asked.

The Tale of the Cat

In an effort to regain control of my life, I’ve started jogging again. That lasted twenty whole minutes before my body filed for early retirement. I was exhausted, so I went to rest at the park in my usual spot. Guess what? I found the stray cat I befriended a while back. Except now…she had kittens.

Tiny furballs, all latched onto her, sucking milk like tiny freeloaders. She looked at me—deeply—like she was peering into my soul.

You know that look. The take me home, I deserve a better life look.

So, I did the next day. Temporarily. I planned to take her to the vet because she looked rough, like a single mom working three jobs just to survive. And all the kids do is eat and eat and …you guessed it, eat.

I don’t know what I’ve signed up for.

The Tale of Daphne

Daphne, my sister, is still using my car like it’s her personal Uber. Today, she borrowed it to pick up “essential groceries,” which turned out to be three kinds of bread, a single tomato, and a bottle of fancy olive oil.

“You can’t just buy a tomato,” I said when she got home.

“Why not? It’s for the ultimate sandwich,” she replied, completely serious.

“The ultimate sandwich?”

“Yeah. It’s an art form, Max. Don’t judge me.”

Remember when I said I missed her, yeah…that feeling ended fast.

She then spent an hour crafting this so-called masterpiece, arranging everything like she was competing on a gourmet cooking show. And then…

She didn’t eat it.

“It’s too pretty,” she said, snapping a photo for Instagram.

The Tale of Bob

Remember Bob, the client Stephen nicely pawned off on me? Well, today, I caught Stephen hiding behind a potted plant when he saw Bob approaching his office. Who does that? Not me that's for sure. Who knew Bob was smart to check under my desk?

Bob’s latest crisis involves a squirrel he’s convinced is stalking him.

“I saw it again this morning,” he said, his voice low. “It was on the fence, staring at me with those beady eyes. Judging me.”

“Maybe it just likes your yard,” I suggested.

“No, Doc. It’s personal. I can feel it.”

To prove his theory, he brought a blurry photo of said squirrel. It was sitting on a branch, looking suspiciously normal.

“See that?” he said, pointing to the photo. “That’s the face of a criminal mastermind.”

“Have you considered that maybe you just need a hobby?” I asked.

“Squirrel watching is my hobby,” he replied, dead serious.

The Tale of HIM and the Vigilante

HIM called me yesterday, sounding way too excited than usual. I guess we’re friends now?

“Max,” he said, “I’m working on a new series. It’s a psychological thriller about a therapist who secretly becomes a vigilante.”

I paused. “So… me, but with a cape?”

“Exactly! I need you to consult on the script. You know, make it realistic.”

“HIM, I don’t lead a double life,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

Am I sure? I mean, with the week I’ve had, anything feels possible. I have always wanted to write a story about a normal everyday loser who goes on a series of adventures with his friends and… You know what? Never mind.

I have a stray cat, a coffee machine of suffering, and a squirrel conspiracy to deal with. That’s enough chaos for now.