The title pretty much says it all.

This is the journal of Jane Brown. 
Each journal entry may be very short or very long. Entries may be close together or far apart. It depends on when and if Jane decides to or remembers to update her journal. If ever. Just like most of the non-diary or journal writer keepers out there - or uninspired authors. Yep.

Warning: VERY SLOOOW updates. This is a story written on a whim. Let's see how long the inspiration will last for. This style of writing is somewhat experimental.

Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION and is not based on any one person. Any portrayal of real people or real events (excluding some major world events) is entirely accidental and coincidental. It is in not in any way, shape of form meant to be a commentary on anyone or anything, even less on current issues in society.

This is literally meant to be boring (hence the ordinary title) without being too boring. It is just about (and meant to be about) the average slow paced life and interests of an average person.

The aim is to keep this for general audiences and not go down the romance route, so that my little nieces and nephews can read this as an example of how to write rubbish - uh, I mean fiction. Unfortunately, my imagination and brain keep running away with the plot and taking it down the adult fiction route... So, sorry, my little nieces and nephews. You won't be reading this version of the story. No way. Your parents might decide to silence me and then you would no longer have a fun aunty to teach you useless knowledge.

Weather: Not sure. Slept most of the day


These are my lies. These are my thoughts. This is my world built and flavoured for your consumption. Especially ever since intrusive, rude and meddlesome people have started reading my journal regularly.


It's stylised. It's shaped. It's imaginary. 


How much is truth and how much is false. Can you tell where the facts are and where the lines of exaggeration and imagination begin? If you can, I will admit you are a better person than I am. Why? Because I can't. 


I can't parse or divide or divine the true from the false, the lies from the fibs, the reality from floor.


Well, it's actually wooden, but if I told you it's carpet, you would just believe me. You'd have to believe me because I am the one reporting and narrating. Then again, this wood might not be real wood. It might be plastic or lino.


I'm having an apathetic day where I don't care. 


I feel kind of numb all over. In my emotions. In my thoughts.


How about I just stay here drifting while you all keep invading my privacy, stealing my dignity and then wondering why I'm such a weird and broken person? It's a pity I don't know how to protect myself better. Or maybe I have learnt that protecting oneself doesn't help, it just makes those predators who yearn for conquest more violent and results in more pain. I can't tell. I don't know.


I don't know how to talk to people anymore.


I don't know how I should interact with people anymore.


How am I supposed to look anyone in the face?


I feel like... I feel like nobody cares. Nobody cares about or for me. Nobody wants me. I may as well not be here at all. They say they care, but they really don't. They only care about themselves. If they are allowed to be selfish, then why can't I?


What are my lies? What are my real thoughts? What is real? What is false? Can you tell? I doubt it. I don't even know.


When I repeat myself, is it because I forgot? Because I want to emphasise something? 


Why should you care? And why should I care whether you care that I care? 


In the end, I think, the world is just selfish. 


I just want to hide from the world and protect myself, or eradicate myself from the world so that I no longer need to get hurt and protect myself.


Chapter 74 - 72nd entry