Diary Of An Existential Kid
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Wednesday, October 27th, 2021

Well, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Big Shot is finally out. 16 books in the series, not to mention all the other titles too.

I wish I was more excited, but lately I just feel… empty. Like I'm missing the joy I used to get from writing these. I dunno, I used to feel so much more connected to my old friend Greg. But it's almost like he's grown beyond me.

I haven't really written anything serious like this here in a while. Hell, I haven't written in here in a while, period. It's basically only when I make something new.

I've got a signing to go to. Just felt like I needed to write something down, get my thoughts out.

Friday, November 11th, 2022

I think my new goal is just to write at least one journal entry for every new book. I've started falling out of practice, but it's still a good kind of habit.

Not much to say about this one though, I've already started on the next. Can't even remember the title. It'll come to me.

I've been thinking of writing something new, not Wimpy Kid related. It's been so long though, I'm not even sure I can write anything else! But seriously though, I'll try and get to it if when I have time. Everyone wants to read about Greg Heffley though, and I need to eat.

I'm thinking maybe some sci-fi or something. I dunno.

Saturday, November 4th, 2023

18 books now.

Something a fan pointed out to me a while ago is that Greg Heffley remains forever in grade school, and that chronologically, time is passing in the Wimpy Kid universe. Even though the years aren't specified, he's keeping numerous journal entries, and even if the events of all these books coincided and were different arcs taking place around the same time, it wouldn't make sense for Greg to write about them at different times and not allude to those events taking place in any way. Perhaps, the fan reasoned, Greg was being held back. But he shows no signs of aging, and neither do Rowley, Manny, or any of the other characters.

The fan asked me if this was meant to be reflective of my own life, that I had become trapped in an eternal present, where past and future were one and the same, and that I felt passively constrained by habit and tradition within my life, to the point where I had lost touch with time itself.

I told him to shut the hell up and read my damn book.

I still think about that kid.

October 30th, 2025

Forgot to write something for last book. Doesn't really matter anyway. Don't have anything much to say. I don't think there's anything I need to say. I can just write in here when I need to. Right now, everyone wants me to write.

March 12th, 2027

Tried writing the sci-fi story I had a little while back, here it goes:

On board the Starlight Beyond, George Huffings awoke from his slumber, the humming of the starship permeating through his bed and into his body. It threatened to lull him back to sleep, but he snapped his eyes open and stood before he could be taken. As much as he wanted to stay in bed, he knew what would happen if he would. His mother was merciless, especially when it came to his schooling. He groggily got himself showered and dressed, and I went downstairs to get breakfast. My brothers had gotten there before me and taken all the good food, which sucked because Mom hadn't gone out shopping yet. I started yelling at Rodney about how he should have saved some food for me, but then Mom decided right then to come in. I started telling her what had happened, but Mom just thought I was being annoying for no reason and told me not to have any breakfast if I was gonna be picky.

At least when I got to the bus stop, Rowley was there already. I started talking about how dumb it was that Rodrick took all the good food, but Rowley heard about food and immediately went on about how great his mom's pancakes were, but that she wouldn't let him have them for every breakfast. I kind of just tuned him out until the bus came.

When the bus got there, I

I decided to stop there. I don't think it'll go anywhere helpful, I might as well just go back to normal by that point.

January 18th, 2031

Tried to not write something for a little while, figured I could use a break. I did a bit of hiking and sketching, which was fun boring.

I don't even know what else to do anymore. This is all I know, I think. And when I try to stop, everyone asks me if I'm okay if I need help. All I can do is what I know.

Nobody's asked me if I'm okay before.

I'm okay.

June 2043

Greg should be an adult by now. He should have bills to pay and children to take care of and a job to go to. That's what my kids have done, I think.

August 2055

Fifty.

That's how many books I've written for the series. And I'm depressed happy, I guess. Big deal for me, fifty books down. Maybe I'll celebrate, buy a cake or something. I think I've earned it.

I'm not sure how long I can continue this though. I don't know what my end goal is with this series. Nothing actually progresses, it's always the same. Which I guess makes sense, it's what everyone wants to read. But I feel like I'm holding Greg back. What will happen when I run out of stories to tell about him?

Maybe I already have.

2068

I don't know where my wife is. Just writing this here in case I need to remember.

(Write the date in here when you find it)

Greg got suspended, very disappointed.

.

I hope everyone who reads my books knows how terrible they are for doing this to me.

.

Reminder to get some air.














































It's just me and Greg now.

At some point everything else went away. The readers, the editors, the friends. It became kind of a dream, one that I'm still dreaming. But it's almost like the opposite, because in a dream, you can live a day in just a few hours. But for every hundred years that passes, a piece of a coherent thought manifests. Or maybe it's all happening at once. Maybe nothing's changed.

This is how it's always been, after all. I just keep writing. That's all I know. Greg and I.

The readers, they made me into this. They're horrible, leaving me behind.

There's nothing left to write on. Nothing left to say or hear my words. It's just me, and the universe. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm all that's left.

Maybe there is no universe.

I thought I saw a light, but it was nothing.

Greg's gone too, I realize. He doesn't have a world to exist on, except what I dream of.

A year has passed. Or maybe a hundred. Or a thousand, or a million billion I don't know how long it's been. I'm the only thing left. Just me and the vast infinite void. Or it could be finite. I could be in a small, tight room, and I wouldn't know or care. I'd just keep writing in my head, with no one else to read it. I don't even know how I'm here. I don't think it matters. I lived for a world that wanted me to entertain them, and even though they're gone, I still

I still

I still

I still

I don't know how to do anything else. This is all the people wanted me to do. Wallowing in their indulgences, chaining me down until there was nothing else. There hadn't been anything else.

I hate them.

I hated them.

Another eternity passed.

At some point, a world came into existence again. I think it's been here for a long time, and I just had to wait. I fell to it, and waited some more. And then I woke up, and walked forward. A new world, that I could start over, until I don't, because I looked in a window, and saw a book I already wrote, and I knew I was already here, and that I'd be suffering again, and that they don't care, and I rushed in, and I killed them, they didn't recognize me, I've changed, and then I was taken, and thrust into a cage, and they hated me too, they

They asked me why.

They asked me why I did what I did, why I'm filled with hate.

It's the first time anyone has ever asked me. Not even Greg, not even

Not even

They don't care. I'm not giving and I must be beaten.

I hate them, because that's who they are.

So I told them why I hated them.

"They were... disgusting."

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