Hey there! It’s Tuesday. It was a good Easter, and I hope everyone enjoyed the celebrations. Easter Monday was alright. It’s a shame about Tuesday. Motherfucker stayed down. Tuesday didn’t rise from the dead. Fucker never again reared his ugly head. I don’t mean to sound negative, but I just never liked working Tuesdays at The Weather Network, but somebody had to do it.
I’m wearing my Gizmo T-shirt as a reminder not to feed the kids after midnight. I’ve seen Gremlins enough times. It took me a long time to get the demos and cover right on the Technossance Magazine. Wow. Today, I selected “WOW Alternative Nu Metal” from my WOW Radio downloaded playlist.
Top 5 Songs for April 7th, 2026:
- “Sympathy For The Devil” by Motörhead ‧ 2015.
- “Them Bones” by Alice In Chains ‧ 1992.
- “Quattro” by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant ‧ 2021.
- “Fortnight” by Taylor Swift ‧ 2024.
- “All About That Bass” by Meghan Trainor ‧ 2014.
I’m keeping a minimal presence on social media. Just think it’s useful, and I’ll make the time for it in my retirement years. Using AI to expand creative thinking is good. Businesses use it to save time and money. While AI can’t replace original thinking, it still has its place in media arts.
Obviously, listening to music is a hobby. But as I amble around the downstairs hall, I’m thinking about my other hobbies. I have stamp, card, and coin collections that need more attention. Too many hobbies.
The media arts diploma had watched me for years.
Not in a proud, parental way — more like a bored security guard leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silently judging every bag of chips I opened in the basement. Its gold frame gleamed even in the dim light, smug as ever, as if to say, “Remember when you had potential?”
I tried ignoring it. I really did. I rearranged the furniture, turned the lamp, even attempted a half-hearted redecorating spree that ended with me sitting on the couch eating crackers directly from the box. But the diploma remained, perfectly centered, perfectly annoying.
One night, after dropping a remote control for the third time in ten minutes, I snapped — not at the remote, but at it.
“Who do you think you are?” I muttered.
The diploma said nothing.
I stood up. The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in — or maybe the diploma was just getting bigger. Either way, something had to give.
I marched over, grabbed the frame, and held it up. My name stared back at me in elegant lettering, surrounded by words I barely remembered.
“Yeah?” I said. “Well, watch this.”
There was no dramatic music. I slammed it against the floor.
Glass exploded like it had been waiting for this its entire life. The frame split open, dignity spilling out along with tiny glittering shards. The diploma itself crumpled slightly, suddenly looking far less authoritative and more like paper.
I stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by the wreckage of my own achievement. And then, unexpectedly, I laughed.
“I didn’t even like those fucking years!” I said.
The room felt different now. Lighter. Like the air had shifted. The wall looked oddly naked, sure, but also… honest.
I grabbed a broom, swept up the mess, and tossed the broken frame into the trash. The diploma, slightly wrinkled but still intact.
I put it out of sight. Not destroyed, exactly. Just… demoted.
Back on the couch, I picked up the remote control for the TV. The TV was always on mute. The remote slipped from my hand again. I stared at it.
The remote, wisely, said nothing.
Random Journal 
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