Monday, March 13, 2017

March 13, 2017

Dear Diary,

Seeing as how I'm spending most of my time at home these days, I decided that Dr. Morell is right: Sitting in soiled bed sheets day after day is simply not a way to live.  Even combining Xanax with Prozac will have to come to an end some day: Dr. Morell reports back travels to Russia every other month, which means I simply have to get back up on my feet and be the Woman in Charge once again.

It's not an easy journey, diary.  Like they say at the meetings, it's "one day at a time," even when those days seem to stack up like EasyJets over Newark.  Making my way back is a long, dark journey, but I am determined to find my way! In the meantime, I'm hoarding Dexedrine and Darvon in the cookie jar under the microwave in the kitchen.  Just in case.

After three months, my hair really needed washing.  It was getting all clumpy and stringy and when Bill started laughing and requesting I sing a few Bob Marley songs, I rang for Bessie and insisted she bring a bucket of PineSol and gloves.  She wheeled me to the bathroom sink and within minutes, my head was covered with bubbles, washing away all my troubles!  Bessie worked my scalp and then pushed my face into the sink full of water, holding me there for about five minutes, ostensibly to rinse out the suds.

When I regained consciousness, I was back in my bed and something felt different. I felt lighter.  More youthful. Bessie was standing by my nightstand looking more pleased with herself than she ought to, so I asked her what happened.  She told me that before she was our slave worked for us, she dropped out of had attended beauty school and decided to give me a full "body treatment," just like they do in those very expensive hotel resorts, only without the terrycloth robe.

At first, I was skeptical, but then I felt around my face to discover she'd given me a totally new hairstyle, with bangs like the kids wear.  Then I felt around for those moles on my face:  the hair was gone!  The hairs on my chin -- gone!  The ring around my nipples -- all gone!  I had no idea Bessie had that kind of talent!  She said she would have chiseled the fungus off my toenails, too, but ever since that Podesta episode, Dr. Morell has had a strict policy that prohibits all sharp objects from coming within 50 feet of me.  Bummer.

Diary, I think I've reached a crucial turning point with this new haircut.  It could make the difference with a nation full of morons voters who actually buy into that whole "Persistence/Resistance" crap when I'm finally ready to return to public life.  Bill isn't the only Comeback Kid, you know!  I'm brimming with confidence, but just in case, let's keep the kitchen cookie jar thing just between us.

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