With every sunrise, I awaken to new possibilities. Yesterday, I stayed in bed, and except for a brief trip to the bathroom, and watched a lot of television. Dr. Morell says it's good for me to "escape reality for a while," which helps reduce my anxieties and takes my mind off of the "dark things."
I enjoy watching old game shows from the 1950s, when life was so much simpler and all people on television weren't quite as "colorful" as they are today and you didn't have to speak Spanish to know what was going on. Just once I'd like to know what those Mexicans on the telenovelas are really saying to one another. God knows the women all dress like whores and the men are pretty greasy-looking, but I will say this for the Mexicans: they like to wear their clothes really tight. Also, if I ever decide to go into business, I could probably make a fortune selling mascara to those Mexican women. They must go through ten tubes a week.
Anyway, at some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I had a dream that really spoke to me. I told Dr. Morell about it, and he thinks I may be on to something. I don't know if it was a dream or more of a vision. To tell the truth, dear diary, it's a little hard for me to tell what's a dream and what isn't a dream since that episode last year in that coffee shop. I swear someone must have slipped something in my chai tea, because my eyes started rolling and my tushy started tingling. Lucky for me I required all my Secret Service men to dead lift 300 pounds or I'd still be flying high somewhere over Toledo! But that's not important now. Let me tell you about that dream.
I don't know where it takes place, but I'm seated at one end of a very, very long and shiny conference table in a wood-paneled room. It's that dark, shiny, walnut kind of wood. I'm pretty sure it's an important room, because on either side of the table, there are all kinds of important people in business suits and they're all looking at me with great
I don't recognize any of the people at the table, except for John Podesta, who's at the very end of the table, kind of picking his nose, checking his phone and not really paying attention to anything. This gets me really angry, because I keep calling him, "John! John!" and all he does is raise his palm while looking down at his screen and mumbling something about following Charlotte McKinney on Snapchat.
This is where Dr. Morell says the dream is important.
So now, I get so angry that I stand up and point my finger a John. My fury and rage is so intense that my hair actually turns orange as I shout, "John...you're fired!" And then, the next thing I know, I'm being
Dr. Morell says this is a sign I'm making progress, although dear diary, I'm not sure I see what he sees. For one thing, I'd never do a room with wood paneling. Way too dark.