More fiction written by me, silly. Today's fiction is about a man named Boris who wants to be a surfer but, he can't surf. So he carries around his surfboard around on the beach without ever getting into the water to surf. He is also terrified of the water.
- Boris Beach
- July 1, 1965
- Dearest diary
I got up as usual at 9:00am. After showering and eating breakfast it was time for another argument with my girlfriend Beatrice. She has been so upset since I left my programming job at the university for a year off. I said to her that I will go back to my job as a FORTRAN programmer but, I have a life long dream to surf. Then she said "how can you be a surfer when you are terrified of the water Boris.
I said "hey my last name is beach so I was born to be a surfer". She laughed at me and said "nice reasoning Boris, ha ha". Then if I recall correctly she said "Boris get out of this house I never want to see you again." Ah Beatrice always says that but, by evening she comes down to the beach to get me for dinner.
After our little fight I went down to the beach which is within walking distance of our rental house on beach drive. Of course I also brought my surfboard along. By now its 9:30am. I reason that although I am afraid of the water that if I want to be a surfer I need to act like I am a surfer then maybe within a few months I will be able to surf.
From 9:30am to 9:45am I walked up and down the beach carrying my 20 foot wooden surfboard that I got from Bud surf shop in Beach city. Man that board is heavy. My feet and shoulders ache after fifteen minutes of carrying that thing.
And from 9:45am to 10:00am I put the surf board down on the beach and hopped on it to practice my surfing stance. I am getting better because now I am not falling of the board like I used to. I know I suck, falling of a surf board when it is perfectly still is not good but, as I said I don't do that anymore. At 10:00am I am went off to the bar on Beach drive. That is all dearest diary Boris.
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