Saturday, January 14, 2017

January 14, 2017

Dear Diary,

Got up early today because Bessie just waltzed into my room, threw open the drapes and told me there was "a woman visitor downstairs" that wanted to see me, which was odd because Dr. Morell says I can't have any visitors until his swimming pool is completed.  I was almost blinded by the sunlight and right in the middle of a really good dream, so I told Bessie to have the woman wait while I brushed my teeth and toweled myself off.

Apparently the woman said she was an Indian, but Bessie remarked that she didn't "look like no Indian to me." The Propofol was wearing off, so I wracked my brain to guess who it might be.  "What kind of Indian?" I asked, "Is she a 'cowboys and indians' kind of Indian or a 'Mahatma Ghandi' kind of Indian?" Bessie looked at me as if I were speaking gibberish, which could have been the case because mornings are pretty difficult for me.  The anti-seizure pills take a while to kick in.

A few minutes later, I had Bessie show the woman in and you'll never believe who it was:  Elizabeth Warren.  After everything she said about me during the you-know-what, she was one of the last people I ever expected to see again.  I mean, after Carrot Head and "Lyin' Ted Cruz (and maybe Bernie Sanders, except that he was pretty happy after cashing that $600K check), Warren was pretty far down on my guest list, I can tell you that.

Elizabeth peeked into the room and asked how I was.  As if she really cared. I know her, and believe me, this rhymes-with-witch will do just about anything to just about anyone to get just about anything she wants.  So we started talking and next thing you know, she's giving me advice on how to get over it and "just move on."  I wanted to grab her by the lapels of her cheap imitation designer suit and throw her out the window. Imagine HER lecturing ME. But then I remembered the two things Dr. Morell told me:

1.  We have to give others a chance.
2.  The Lorazepam can cause hallucinations when taken in conjunction with Lithium.

Much of our discussion is sort of foggy, but I do recall her telling me that as soon as I got out, I should seriously "repackage" myself and do something to claim I'm not white.  She says everyone's doing it:  She tells everyone she's an Indian, and that John Kerry and Madeleine Albright tells everyone they "have Jewish blood." There's even some white woman in Seattle or someplace who's as white as the pure-driven snow running around telling everyone she's black!  I'm not prepared to go that far, but I think she may be on to something.

Maybe I could hint around that I'm actually Irish Catholic with lineage that goes back to the New York Irish mob.  Or that my great aunt on my mother's side was actually an octaroon.  Do they still use that term?  Octoroon?  I used to love saying that as a little girl.  I thought it was a cookie.

It's a cookie, right? I think so. I'd like some milk.  Wow, how did it get to be afternoon already?

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