(It has been three straight weeks that the cafeteria at the office building where I work in mid-town Manhattan has been out of Diet Pepsi. As someone who consumes a great deal of this beverage, this condition has rapidly become untenable for me.)
DAY 1: After a thorough accounting of the provisions in our stores, it has come to my attention that the last resupply mission from Base did not seem to include Diet Pepsi. This is extremely vexing.
DAY 2: It has been just 48 hours, but the lack of Diet Pepsi is already having an effect on the crew. The general lack of vim is clear. Even to the untrained eye.
DAY 3: Instructed First Officer Billings to send message to Base via the Marconi. I eagerly await their reply.
DAY 4: Still no reply from Base. The crew's pep has visibly begun to flag.
DAY 5: Instructed Billings to send numerous urgent messages to Base. We receive no answer but static.
DAY 6: Have begun hearing strange sounds in the night. Inhuman sounds. I shall double the watch.
DAY 7: Desperation can do things to a man. Terrible things.
DAY 8: In the quiet moments I find that I cannot quite recall the taste of Diet Pepsi. I must keep this to myself. Mustn't panic the men. Must keep up a brave face.
DAY 9: Morale among the crew is low. Billings tried to fabricate some Diet Pepsi from some carbonated water, caramel color, aspartame, phosphoric acid, potassium benzoate, caffeine, citric acid and some natural flavorings that he managed to find. It ended in tears, of course. Bitter bitter tears.
DAY 10: Deprivation. Such wanton deprivation.
DAY 11: We are so alone on this remote, deserted island. Cut off from everything and everyone. The rest of the world is but a half remembered dream. So alone. So utterly, utterly alone. The silence, it is deafening.
DAY 12: Someday I can envision a Manhattan where goods can be easily transported over roads and bridges. Where commerce can thrive. This place could be overflowing with invigorating and delicious diet beverages. Someday. Someday.
DAY 13: There is no logic in this place.
DAY 14: Billings has suggested maybe bringing Diet Pepsi from home. "Home." I don't even know what the word means anymore.
DAY 15: All is madness.
We live. Yet surely, without our beverage of choice, this cannot be called "living."
DAY 16: Some of the more desperate men have taken to drinking diet Dr Pepper for succor. I will not bend. I cannot bend. I am not an animal.
DAY 17: The diet Dr Pepper tastes just like regular Dr Pepper, which tastes just like shame. Desperation makes monsters of men.
DAY 18: I don't know how much longer we can endure. I can feel my soul breaking, about to shatter. If this is to be my last entry, please tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Except that Diet-Coke-swilling reprobate cousin of mine. (He knows who he is.) He is already dead to me.
DAY 19: This must be exactly how Shackelton felt.
DAY 20: Billings suggested we drink the plentiful, plentiful Diet Coke. I will miss him. He was delicious.
DAY 21: The horror. The horror.
Till next we meet ...