The Diva's Diary - 4

Day 5 (June 10, 2026)

Morning dawned without the comforting presence of my husband by my side, only stronger confirming my growing suspicions that he might be deliberately avoiding me. He had prepared my meals and left another affectionate note, only to vanish without a trace.

In need of assistance, I reached out to him via text regarding the ChatGPT login credentials, which he promptly provided. Though the program was severely limited, offering only text-based interaction, it occupied my attention and teased my mind for a time. Most frequently, I encountered responses such as “I’m sorry, I do not have access to this information/field of knowledge” or “I have not been trained in this discipline yet.” A discussion with my husband about this peculiar malfunction seems imperative.

Alas, calamity struck when my right-hand gel thumb nail, caught between the microwave door and the panel, was wrenched from its bed along with a portion of the natural nail. The ensuing bloodshed was copious, compelling me to perform a makeshift bandaging on myself from the first aid kit. The task was arduous, and the result, aesthetically displeasing. Furthermore, the injury has rendered typing exceedingly difficult and painful. A request for a voice-to-text installation on my iPad shall be added to the ever-growing list of inquiries for my husband.

Additional matters to address with him include:

- The disposal location for the trash

- Updates on surface activities

- News of my parents

- The presence of other women within the bunker

- Instructions for commencing laundry

- Solutions for repairing my damaged nail

- The rationale behind his absence from our bunker.

The pool was forsaken today, out of fear that my wounded thumb might start bleeding again, and the notion of contaminating the water with blood was abhorrent. Instead, I sought solace in the library, where I encountered four children: two sets of twins, infant boys and older girls, whose ages I guessed to be between eight and twelve. The girls’ appearance eerily reminded me of the twins from “The Shining.”

These children greeted me with an exuberance that suggested lifelong familiarity, addressing me as “Auntie Claire.” Mystified by their recognition and eager attachment, I inquired about their parents. They informed me that their father was occupied with work, while their mother “couldn’t make it.” Whether this implied she didn’t make it to the bunker or merely to the library was unclear.

To pacify them, I read out loud several Dr. Seuss books, which struck me as profoundly inane. Despite my disinterest, the children clamored for more, and I obliged until I could extricate myself by citing pressing obligations. When they inquired about these duties, I deflected, asking the librarian Android to entertain them. Once again, in response to my query, the Android refused to divulge any information about the children’s parents.

Upon returning to the bunker, I dined in solitude and now intend to lose myself in Nora Roberts’ “Summer Cove” until sleep overtakes me. The entire day has passed without a glimpse of my husband. His absence leaves me languishing in tedium, and my injured thumb continues to throb painfully.

Anyone but Claire’s husband would have been struck by the change in the tone and style of her diary entry. He, however, had the luxury of seeing her feeding the following prompt to ChatGPT:

Please re-write my diary entry for today in the style of William Thackeray:

“No hubby by my side in the morning again. I like am starting to wonder if he is avoiding me. He made me food again, left a love note again, and like disappeared.

I texted him about the ChatGPT login and he texted me the access info back. I got in! It is crippled and works with text only, but it kept me entertained for some time. The most frequent message I received from it was “I’m sorry, I do not have access to this information/field of knowledge” or “I have not been trained in this discipline yet.” Need to ask hubby what is going on here.

I broke my right-hand gel thumb nail today! It got somehow lodged between the microwave door and the panel and got torn out, together with some of my natural nail. It was bleeding like crazy, I had to bandage it myself with what I could find in like the first aid kit. It was not easy and my thumb now looks ugly. Also, really hard to type. Need to ask hubby if it is possible to install voice-to-text program into my iPad.

Other things to ask hubby:

- Where to take the trash

- What happened on the surface

- Any news of my parents

- Any women in the bunker

- How to start laundry

- Where to get my nail fixed

- Why isn’t he working from the bunker.

I didn’t go to the pool today because I was afraid my thumb would like bleed out. Blood in the pool would be disgusting. But I did go to the library again. There were four kids there, twin toddler boys and twin girls of anywhere between 8-12. I am not good with kids’ ages, but they looked, I swear, like the twins from The Shining.

When they saw me, they were so happy like they know me all their lives, screaming “Auntie Claire!” I have no idea who they are and how they knew my name! They were clinging to me, begging me to read a book to them. When I asked them about their parents, they said daddy was working and mommy “couldn’t make it.” I couldn’t get it out of them if she didn’t make it to the bunker or just didn’t come to the library with them.

Just to get them off my tail, I read them a couple of Dr. Seuss books. OMG, those books were so stupid! They begged for some more, so we’ve read more. I finally told them I had to go because I had stuff to do, and they all asked “What stuff?” I couldn’t tell them the truth that I just didn’t want to be with them anymore, so I asked the librarian Android to read to them after it again refused to tell me who they were and where their parents were.

When I came back to the bunker, I ate dinner and am going to read Nora Roberts’ Summer Cove until I fall asleep. Haven’t seen my hubby for the whole day today again. I miss him and it’s so boring here and my thumb is still throbbing with pain.”

“Why did she do this?” Claire’s husband wondered. “Is it because she wanted to look smarter and more sophisticated? Or was she truly bored out of her mind? And how does she even know who Thackeray is? Is there depth to this woman I never knew about? So many questions!”