Wednesday, September 13, 2017

September 13, 2017

Dear Diary,

Thank goodness for amphetamines, otherwise I never would have gotten through today's book signings. The day started with Bessie rousing me at the crack of noon, a good two hours before I the Ambien normally wears off. The clunking of the double deadbolts on my bedroom door woke me with a start, after which she trundled up to my bedside and did her "Gone With The Wind" Mammy-waking-Scarlett impression, which is funny, because Bessie is Haitian. I think. She's very dark, so it's difficult to tell.

Dr. Morell showed up, too, with a syringe that looked like it was straight out of "The Munsters" TV show. That needle must have been for shooting horses in the ass: four inches long and the stuff inside it was yellowish green. Before I felt the alcohol swab, he had that thing jabbed into what's left of my vein, pumping it empty in less than two seconds. Then he mumbled something in Russian and nearly knocked Bill over as he left.

Bill, as usual, was no help at all. He just handed me a Sharpie on a string to put around my neck and told me not to lose it, because Sharpies are expensive. Things get a little blurry after that. Dr. Morell's speedball must have been kicking in. I was able to make out something about how we were going to some bookstore for a few hours because apparently I'd written a book about the you-know-what and people were paying extra for me to sign it. Bill said they paid cash money, so we wouldn't have to declare it.

Having not been out of bed since January, I was a little shaky on my feet, both of which had swollen up like watermelons. That set off a panic, since none of my shoes fit. Then Bill remembered that they could just wheel me in and that I'd be sitting behind a desk, so nobody would see my feet. I think he made a joke about how nobody ever saw my feet because of my cankles, but I can't say for sure. I bumped my head on the roof of the van when one of the secret service goons pushed me into the back seat. I don't recall much of the ride, but by the time we arrived, there was a lump the size of a golf ball sitting right over my right eye. Thank goodness for my Mary Kay concealer. Covered most that sucker right up. I just slid the wig down over the rest and we were good to go.

I couldn't help getting carsick, though. Bessie was with me in the back seat and I have to say she was a doll, catching every drop of drool and puke before it hit my shiny new pants suit. By the time we got to the book store, there was a crowd of three, maybe four people there. I'm not counting the janitor. Bill said we were a little early and that the paid crowd would be there at the top of the hour, according to their union contract. I used the time to go tinkle. By the time Bessie steered me back to the signing table, the crowd had swelled up to at  least five or six.

I thought I saw Huma there. Can't say for sure. I was sky high and frankly, my voluntary motor skills were shot. My nipples started tingling, though, so that started me looking around for her. Bill slapped me across the head and told me to focus. People started handing me books to sign, but I forgot how to spell "Hillary," so I just wrote "Fuck Bernie," slammed the cover shut and hoped they wouldn't notice.

I always get confused if there's one L or two.

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