Dear Journal....Sincerely, Henry David Thoreau

Dear Journal,

Today, I woke up not in my bed in my rustic, simple cabin in the woods, but in an awfully oversized and extremely too fluffy bed in a room so large my voice echoed. I jumped off the very high fortress and wandered to the nearest door. In search for the door, I gazed upon all the things around me. There were mirrors,  lonely furniture everywhere, about 8 sources of light, and magazines with pictures of random people with their lives printed for the public. Also I found it very strange there was a huge, I mean huge, black picture frame on the wall, facing the bed, with just a black, slighty shiny, picture in it and a glowing dot in the bottom left corner of it. Is this supposed to be art?



I found my way to the oversized door, and opened it into a hall of about 20 doors just like mine. It seemed like a never ending corridor of identical doors and floral pattern floor to ceiling. A couple suddenly comes out of a door. This man and women seemed frustrated and unhappy. They were arguing over how to carry their 5 large suit cases out to the 'car?' I'm not quite sure what a 'car' is or why they have so much to carry. They seemed like they knew where they were going so I followed them. They stopped at a large metal thing on the wall, pushed a button, and suddenly this metal contraption opened! We walked in, the metal door closed, and with a sudden jolt we started moving. The couple continued to argue with each other until something started making noise. It was in the man's pocket. He interrupted the women, quieted the noise, and then started arguing into this object like it was another person. It was so strange.

Finally, the door opened again, but not to the corridor with duplicate doors. It opened to a huge open area filled with bustling people dressed head to toe in colors, textures, and shiny things. Someone came up to me while I was in awe. "Good Morning Mr. Thoreau! Hope you slept well. You have breakfast and coffee waiting for you if you could just follow me to your table. " All I could spit out was a mumbled "OK" and a nod yes. I followed him through the hectic crowd of people going in all sorts of directions, talking to each other or to those objects like the man had in the metal contraption. Next thing I know, I was in another incredibly large room with a million tables it seemed like. And the smells of all sorts of warm cooking infused my nostrils. I was seated at a table that could seat about 10 more adults. I could not believe what I saw in front of me. There was a plate larger than my head, stacked high with food--pancakes, eggs, bread, and things I have never seen before. There was about 3 types of meat I think, all in different shapes and forms. There were about 5 different utensils around this mound of food, all shapes and sizes. Along with this meal, that could last me about 2 months, was 3 different glasses of liquid. One was water, one was murky brown and steaming, and the other was bright orange, as orange as a setting sun.



"Here you go, when you're ready for seconds just ring this bell right here and I will bring you a new plate with more goodies. And if you need anything else just ring this bell and I will assist you with anything--you don't need to lift one finger here. Enjoy your stay Mr. Thoreau."

I looked down at this feast in front of me, and the extravagant ball room I was in, and asked myself "Where the hell am I?'' I miss the woods. I want my cabin back.


-Henry