Thursday, May 11, 2017

May 11, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today Dr. Morell noticed that I was shaking a little more than I usually do.  This time, the tremors weren't like my usual peitit mal seizures.  They were more like a constant state of nerves and anxiety.  Dr. Morell thought we should up the Xanax, but then he noticed my pillow was torn up and goose feathers all over the carpet, so I guess the night terrors are back.  We talked for about an hour and I felt better about it. Then he excused himself so that Bessie could change the bedpan.

One of the things I like about Dr. Morell is that he knows the right questions to ask. Within five minutes, he figured out that I was suffering from panic attacks, brought on by a sense of Trey Gowdy becoming head of the FBI impending doom.  I was able to lie open up to Dr. Morell about it, describing my dreams.

He says it's perfectly normal for fugitives from justice everyday people to worry about getting thrown in jail for the rest of their lives and that when push comes to shove, I'm just like everyone else who denies criminal accountability experiences daily stress.  He says that as long as I can keep coming up with other people to blame face my fears, there's nothing seriously wrong with me.

The worst nightmare was about this whole FBI thing.  I thought for sure that Comey would stick around as long as the bribes were being mailed long enough for Bill and me to close up the Foundation and make tracks to Qatar consider retirement, but looks as if those ragheads won't have us, either, that won't happen now, so we need to scramble for cover come up with alternate plans.

With Comey out, word is out that Trey Gowdy is being pushed to take his place. That would be a real nightmare.  I remember when Gowdy was a backwater District Attorney being interviewed on reruns of "Forensic Files" and thinking, "Does that guy comb his hair with a lawn mower or what?" Seriously, if Carrot Head wants to replace Comey, he should at least find someone whose head doesn't look like a frightened albino porcupine.

Bill says that if Gowdy gets the nod, we're fucked we need to start negotiating a deal to keep me out of prison considering my political plans, because he knows Trey personally and says Gowdy is out to prove a point.  One time, Bill says they went out drinking and Trey drank everyone under the table, including a 300 pound Russian weightlifter we'd hired to kill Anthony Wiener as a bodyguard.

Maybe Bill's right.  Maybe I should just lie low putter around the house, focusing on funding this "Onward Together" nonsense, at least until we hit the account balance minimum.  Then we can upgrade our flights to Qatar to first class and leave Chelsea to deal with it.  It's not like she really has a future or anything.

Besides, she's still young. She could be back out on the streets by her late thirties, latest.


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