January 13, 2021
Dear Dumb Diary,
You, yeah you. It’s me again, so shut up and listen to me. This isn’t your stupid kiddie YA book series anymore—this is me, Jaymee Kellee, a 20-something year-old liberal arts student enrolled at the University of Toronto who clearly has not relinquished ANY of her teen angst.
After that grown man-child author Jim Benton stole my diaries and published them (without my knowledge nor consent! A typical white guy move!), I became wildly famous. My Dear Dumb Diary series got big. But guess what?! I didn’t want any of you fuckers to read my content, and now, here you are, begging for more dumb diaries.
Now that you’re here, though, I might as well tell you about my 2021 resolution. It’s the new year, the big twenty twenty-one. I am turning 22 in one month.
As Taylor Swift claimed in her aptly named song and hit single, 22:
I don’t know about you!
But I’m feeling 22!!! ☺
Everything will be alright if!
You keep me next to you!!!! <333333
What?! NO! I am 22 and I am overworked, angry, and tired! Taylor SHIT knows nothing.
The world is on fire and I’m sitting here behind my desk, watching profs learn how to use Zoom, wondering when this pain will stop. I read the news, bang my head on the wall, then proceed to do homework to fight off the intrusive thoughts. I consume TikToks like they’re the first round of shots at a party. I inject other people’s meme content into my veins like I’m a healthcare worker at the top of Pfizer priority list. I write satire just to FEEL something.
Clearly, I need a new New Year’s resolution. Something that will take the edge off, something that will take my mind off of things.
…
Oh hey.
I got it.
What if I—
Stopped having thoughts.
What if I just had… zero thoughts.
You can’t have intrusive thoughts if you don’t think, right?
You can’t get angry if you don’t have any content to project emotion onto, right?
Huh! Wow.
Ok then, that’s it! I will just…
Stop.
I didn’t want to write any more Dear Dumb Diaries anyway! I don’t gain anything from doing this. Gym Beantonn reaps all of the profits, and the man doesn’t even send me royalties—snail mail or otherwise.
Okay, I guess that this is the end then. I’m ending this series once and for all. Don’t contact me, don’t ask about the books, don’t ask me about college, do not look at or speak to me ever.
Absolutely zero perception, absolutely zero thoughts.
This is the end of an era.
Goodbye, you stupid, stupid dumb diary.
Sayonara,
Jaymee Kellee