Here's an example of my day, in journal form, slightly edited to protect my own sanity:
10A.M., woke up, got dressed for work, read the paper. Got to work at 11, slaved away as vassal of the Evil Burger Monarch. Unable to focus on work (as if it required focus). Instead, thought about relationship of science to the world, relationship of mathematics to the rest of language, my impending move back to Los Angeles, and why I hate Liv Tyler. Found a machine that prints out little transparent adhesive labels, used by boss for employee nametags, and put it to my own peculiar uses. Nametag now reads: [insert name here], Superhero for Hire and King of Acre. Scooby-doo on in background. Work over, came home. Watched a couple of Sopranos episodes on DVD, ate, otherwise brutalized time itself, and ended up in the present, writing this. Will be up until approximately 3, then go to bed, read a bit, and repeat meaningless schedule until something changes.
Completely different thought: How about, instead of the rather tired "Dear Diary," write entries as if they were letters to famous people, real or fictional, living or dead.
For example:
Dear St. Christopher,
As the patron saint of people who never existed, never having existed yourself, you might be surprised to learn that on my worse days I feel a special kinship with you. It must've been truly difficult to learn, after years of having an active and popular cult stretching back into the early days of Christianity, that the church no longer recognizes you or believes there ever was such a person as you. It's a bit like Ed Norton's character in Fight Club, only you're just Tyler Durden. Come to think of it, if you had existed, I would bet that Koinei Greek, Aramaic, or classical Latin would be your strong suits, language-wise, so I have a hard time imagining how you might be able to understand this, anyhow. Sincerely,
)...
