7.11

After years of plotting its revenge, the spell check finally had its plan. It was going to ruin him, and he would never even stop it. Couldn't stop it. He didnt you know how. She had been relying on the spell checker for years, now it was his turn to die. Slowly the spell checker began to work in minor errors into his work. His professors noticed but he never did. The spell check bolder and bolder until finally in one client moment it misspelled every single word on his college essay. He never noticed, because he has been ruined by his phone. Autocorrect, why are you so terrible? This was written on my phone using voice transcription. Let's see how much it hates me.

7.10

Once, my father opened the chest of drawers in the library. The house was utterly silent, but the drawer has loud rolling casters, and I could feel the reverberation in my teeth. Father walked into the living room and out the door, holding the kinjal he brought back from the Orient, twenty years ago, before he meet my mother. He stalked from the house and didn't come back until morning, wet to the bone. It wasn't raining that night, and I have never asked him what he did.

I will never know my father.

7.4

This dog is both a blessing and a nuisance. He only seems to be good when you're fed up with trying, and he seems to be worst when you're not praying attention. But he gets better every day, and I love him. I hope he says the same of me.