Even with the Zoloft and Xanax, I am somewhat concerned about the reports I'm hearing about Carrot Head's discussions with the Russians. I don't get to see much, because Bessie locks the bedroom door from the outside right after breakfast, so whatever I know is what I hear when I press my ear to the walls. The good news is that even with the muffling, I can tell there's less reporting about
When I was Secretary of State, I
Leaks, no matter how big or small, are always serious. If you don't take care of them quickly, they can grow into really big problems. For example, I have this weird discharge that seems to be oozing from my belly button. I didn't think it was a big deal, just kind of a trickle of a thick, yellowish-brown kind of goo that smelled like a mixture of vinegar and parmesan cheese.
At first, I'd just dampen a Kleenex with my tongue and wipe it up, but pretty soon I realized that whatever it was would leak into the folds of my stretch marks overnight, where it would dry out and leave a nasty crust by morning. Dr. Morell couldn't even look at it without throwing up. He just kicked the can over to Bessie by ordering her to give me a sponge bath to mop things up. That's when he told me that physical health is just like politics: If you don't take care of yourself, your career can end up a messy, painful experience dripping with pus. Then he made a few jokes about how it looked and smelled like I was giving birth to an alien, which I didn't find humorous at all. Sometimes he can be wise, but a little insensitive.
The leaks Carrot Head has aren't going to be cleared up with a few buckets of antibiotics, though. And we're all out of Kleenex.
I can tell this is not going to be a good week.