March 30th 1936-Dear Journal, I badly needed to make myself feel wanted and important so I went to a group of homeless men and talked about Carl Jung in an effort to intimidate them and prove that women have bigger brains than men. They actually reciprocated with some Freudian and Dostoevsky-ian theories and I ended up feeling even worse.

August 9th 1939-Are you a man or a woman, Journal? I need to know. Tell me now. Tell me. Answer me, damn it! If I find out that you are a man I swear that I’ll rip you into pieces.

P.S- My parents divulged this crazy idea that they think I might be going a little paranoid.

August 10th 1939-Dear Journal, I’m frightened if my parents’ diagnosis might hold some truth. I was reading some classic novels and whatever I read appeared to be having subliminal chauvinistic connotations. I even found the character Oliver Twist to be a rabid chauvinist.

P.S- Ever noticed the underlying motive of establishing phallic superiority in the name Charles Dickens?

November 17th 1943-Dear Journal, I blame my father for everything that has gone wrong with my life though I don’t know why I blame him. He’s the only man who ever loved me. But it feels nice to shirk away from accepting my own flaws and burden others-possibly men-with my failure.

December 11th 1949-Dear Journal, I think a miracle may have happened. I suspect that I’m pregnant.

P.S- The gods have smiled on me.

December 12th 1949-Dear Journal, miracle shmiracle!! I found out I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.

P.S- Why gods, why?

March 1st 1953-Nevada pumpkin allows pipe bursting gargoyle reminding world barracuda hospital devastation in the name of hairy my mind lips of genuine underskirts.

P.S- I wonder when senility is going to strike me.

January 1st 1954-Dear Journal, I’m in my deathbed. It’s astonishing how one’s perspective can change while death is imminent. I look at the world and I see a wonderful place filled with people who love, love, and only love; a world where beauty abounds in nature, humans, and animals; a world where everyone is loved unconditionally; a world that is so colorful and vibrant that it breaks my heart to bid it goodbye.

P.S- Not really. Life sucks! The world sucks! Humans suck! Everything sucks!

             And on that day my Aunt Polly kicked the bucket. While kicking the bucket she slipped, fell, and hit her head on the bathroom floor and, minutes later, died. It fills me with such inexpressible feelings when I think of the gruesome life that my Aunt Polly lived. I realize why everyone in my family restrained from speaking more than three words about my Aunt Polly (it was always “She is dead”). The darkness and anguish that permeated her life fills me with a chill; it also serves as a reminder of the fact that I’m a fortunate woman. I’m fortunate that I have a successful and meaningful job where I dig up garbage and make a lot of money; I’m fortunate that I possess a loving and lovable husband who possesses an even more lovable bank account; I’m fortunate that I’m carrying his child (I think!) inside me right now; most of all, Aunt Polly’s life has taught me that I’m fortunate that I have a pair of humongous knockers.

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