Crazy

Dear Pussy, 

This is weird; a diary.   I’ve never written a diary before.  I’m 68, white, a woman.   A single woman.   Remember the movie, “What women want”?   Had some tough guy in it.   Maybe that’s what a diary is supposed to be about.   Oh, yeah, the reason I call you a pussy is because in “The Diary of Anne Frank,” she calls her diary, “Kitty,” and I didn’t want to steal from her, so  I’m calling you Pussy.   It has nothing to do with my vagina though.   I paid extra for a diary with a lock.   That’s right, there’s a lock on my pussy.  

     I live in an ALF.    Maybe you don’t know what an ALF is and no, it’s not a brown, furry alien that was the star of an dumbass TV show in the 80’s or maybe the 70’s?    So, what do I talk to you about?   Do I write my deep, dark secrets like on the show. “Doug”?   Nah, that was a journal; this is a diary.   I don’t even know why I’m using proper English.   Nobody’s going to read this, including me.  Who gives a fuck?   I can swear to you, but I swear all the time here.   Maybe this supposed to be like a church confessional, but I’m not Christian, so how the hell I supposed to do that?   I did something like a confessional in the 12 steps in step 4.   So, let’s try it:   Step 4.   You’ll be my sponsor or I’m self-sponsoring.   You know what you call someone who sponsors themselves?   An idiot.    Or maybe it’s if you sponsor yourself, you have an idiot as a sponsor.   It’s something like that.  Maybe.   

     And I know what you’re thinking:   I must have Alzheimer’s or Dementia.   But, no.  My goddamn kids got me tested.   I don’t have Alzheimer’s.   My memory is fine.  They (my kids) recommended writing a journal about all the stories in my life.or of my life or something.  

     So, let’s start with my fucked up rage.  I’m pissed off at everyone.  I hate my parents, my kids, my coworker, fellow drivers, the cashiers at Walmart, hell.   Everyone.  So, gotta write down why I hate all these people in each row.  

     Why I hate my Mom.   Oh, boy.   Where to even start?   Well, she did nurse me.  Wait, maybe this diary came from somewhere up north where people don’t use  that term.   It’s not about wounds or dressing, or anything.   It’s about taking out your tits and feeding your young natural milk; mother’s milk.   She did that.   Most mom’s do.   But she had MPD and/or schizophrenia.   She was never diagnosed with that, but I read the DSM-II, and it’s a perfect description of her.  

     I know.   I know.   It isn’t supposed to be a novel, it’s supposed to be one or two sentences.   She was crazy.   She drove me crazy.   Dad.   Drank alcohol and chose Mom for wife.   Seems like there’s so much more to say.   Maybe he used alcohol to escape Mom being crazy.  But he was supposed to be the bread winner.   Mom claimed the reason she became psycho was because Dad was an alcoholic.   Dad said the reason he became an alcoholic was because Mom was schizophrenic.   Which came first, the egg or the chicken?  

     Then there were my siblings.   Gotta take it one idiot at time.   Bob.   Right, with two O’s.   Older brother.  He was supposed to protect me.   Bastard never stood up for me once in his goddamn life.   Oh, no.   Let’s leave me in charge of protecting everyone.   Great idea.   About as great as the idea of mice putting a bell around a cat’s neck to warn the mice, but who’s going to put it on the cat?   Who’s going to protect the children.  Didn’t know there were government departments for that .  . .   One or two sentences.   Irresponsible.   I had to take over.   Bastard.  

     Little sister.   Very greedy.  Always running to me for protection.   I have to help her, so she can let others beat me up.   I have to get her expensive presents for her birthday and I get Jack shit nothing on my birthday from her.  Sorry.  One or two sentences.   Hypocrisy.  Unreasonably.   Littlest brother.   Total disability and abuse.   Can’t help.   Feel guilty, I suppose. Why?   This wasn’t even my fucking fault.   They decided to have him, or, more than likely, they forgot to use a goddamn condom.   Idiots.  

     But, thank God, I can take care of someone else and get a job at night so these bastards can feed a fourth child.  Great idea !!!!

     Then, let’s talk about my moron coworkers.   They may as well be actors and all play the roll of the Scare Crow.  “If they only had brains”.   Like one of them called another one of them an underwire, like that was something bad.  Mormons don’t even know what they’re calling each other.   Then, the fucking phone rings and my idiot coworker answers, “Hello?” And they know we’re supposed to answer with the company name and “How can I help you?”   Another one of them asked me how many fucking filters to put in the coffee maker.   One.   You fucking moron   One.  Then, it won’t overflow.  And we won’t have to reorder coffee filters.  

    So, that’s why I did it.   Make sense?   You’re inanimate.  I know that, but I covered my tracks.  Random party, random shooting.   The FBI is going to connect them to me?   No way.   I got interviewed on the news and cried, the whole nine yards and the moron police let me go.  

       I know.   I don’t know how to get off GSR (gun shot residue), but I can always say I was in the line of fire.   I made sure where I had the “party” didn’t have security cameras.   I knew how/where/when to get rid of the goddamn gun.   I’m a smart cookie and now I can go somewhere where there are people with college degrees that can have real conversations.   

      Think about it.   Watch the movie, “Idiocracy,” watch the music video, “Evolution,” by Korn, read Darwin, read “Mine Komph,” by Hitler.   Hitler was nuts, but he had a brain.   Every generation is getting dumber and dumber.   If we kill the morons, they won’t have babies and the planet Earth will have smarter humans instead of idiots everywhere.  So I did the right thing.   It has nothing to do with religion or race.   There are just morons in the world of every religion, race, and creed and we need to eliminate them.  Think of it as weeding.   There are less weeds in the garden now.   Isn’t that a good thing?   See, Pussy, I did a good thing today.   I made the planet Earth a better place.   God bless the newer order.