What has Conan O'Brien been doing in his spare time? His writers have only been putting pen to paper for their picket signs, and even though he returned to his late night desk earlier this month -- he's been a one-man show, lacking his trusty troupe of scribes. Alone and living in a world of reruns, he's been unloading in his diary strike journal.

In EW's latest issue, which hit newsstands today, they dive into the mind of the bearded late night host, peeking at the pages of his papyrus pal. It's not pretty, from day one the fear of shows losing their freshness sets in, leaving Conan to turn to the dark side of television: unscripted reality. The horror!

DAY 1
I am alive, but there is no writing for television and motion pictures. I stumble about my apartment — a stranger in a strange land. Gathering my wits, I take stock of my meager supplies: four original episodes of House, a handful of fresh 30 Rocks, and two Heroes, which I fear have gone bad. I cannot survive long — panic sets in.

DAY 12
Tragedy! A power surge fries my DVR, destroying my meager larder of scripted shows. With little to sustain me, I am forced to subsist entirely on Reality Television. I gorge myself on marathons of The Real Housewives of Orange County and Flavor of Love, then collapse in a wretched heap. If this is living, I welcome death.

DAY 51
I am now surviving completely on Game Shows. I have lost weight, my hands tremble uncontrollably, but I am certain that Briefcase Twenty-Two holds the million dollars. I scream at my television, but that stupid Physical Therapist from Tarzana cannot hear me. Seriously — what is wrong with that bitch?