For 25 years, Robert Shields documented every five minutes of his life with obsessive dedication. The former minister and English teacher from Dayton, Washington produced what may be the world's longest diary— 37.5 million words that filled 91 boxes.
Starting in 1972, Shields allowed himself only two hours of sleep at a time so he wouldn't miss recording his dreams. In his underwear on his back porch, he spent four hours daily documenting everything from his body temperature to bathroom visits. "Believing that discontinuing his diary would be like 'turning off my life,'" as reported in The New York Times, Shields captured the profound and mundane with equal fervor. His entries ranged from theological musings to detailed accounts of changing light bulbs, complete with preserved nose hair samples for future study.
The diary's excerpts reveal both its exhaustive nature and unexpected poetry:
July 25, 1993
- 7 am: "I cleaned out the tub and scraped my feet with my fingernails to remove layers of dead skin."
- 7.05 am: "Passed a large, firm stool, and a pint of urine. Used five sheets of paper."
April 18, 1994
- 6:30–6:35: "I put in the oven two Stouffer's macaroni and cheese at 350°."
- 6:35–6:50: "I was at the keyboard of the IBM Wheelwriter making entries for the diary."
- 6.50–7.30: "I ate the Stouffer's macaroni and cheese and Cornelia ate the other one. Grace decided she didn't want one."
- 7.30–7.35: "We changed the light over the back stoop since the bulb had burnt out."
April 30, 1994
- 11:00–11:30: "I picked over parts of Newsweek and Time and Harvard magazine and reread them while I ate about a dozen leftover fish sticks. (Cold.)"
May 1, 1994
- I let loose my cascade of saffron water
August 21, 1994
- 2:25–2:35: "I checked on whether our county tax payment had been received. It had."
August 13, 1995
- 8.45 am: "I shaved twice with the Gillette Sensor blade [and] shaved my neck behind both ears, and crossways of my cheeks, too."
This chronicle ended when a stroke disabled Shields in 1997. Though his wife attempted to continue transcribing his dictation, the project soon ceased. The entire diary now rests in Washington State University's collections, sealed until 2057.
"You might say I'm a nut," he told The Sunday Oregonian in 1996. "We are driven by compulsions we don't know."
