The Write Woman Brushes her Dead Self Off (With 331 Days Left)

Okay, so just because someone calls herself a writer doesn’t mean she doesn’t listen too. On the way home from gathering nutritious donuts and milk for breakfast, the radio stated that Nick Hogan, Hulk Hogan’s son, is in the news because he submitted his password and pin to hackers and then has his naked picture all over the web because some scathed girls had it in for him. He claims he was only sixteen, but what in the hell is a sixteen year old doing showing his junk to little girls? I think it’s a pathetic lie; he isn’t sixteen. Nick is probably twenty-one and his parts haven’t grown up. I’m surprised he didn’t claim he was fourteen or twelve, hitting it.

 

Katie Perry is awesome! She said she’d be honored to play at the Super Bowl as long as they didn’t charge her to play. What is this saying, America? In case you can’t figure it out for yourself, it’s saying that we’ll be lucky to have Pizza Underground perform. On the bright side, it’s the perfect time to use the restroom in those long lines during the game. It isn’t like you’re missing much, but you’re still paying for it.

Now, let’s talk about me. I got my nails done, I got my gym membership that happened to be on their anniversary letting me start for $1! All for my job in the line of work. At least it’s a good excuse to do something positive and the gym is open 24/7, so I can go in the middle of the night if I can’t sleep, which is often.

What else is new? We’re trying to figure out what we should do this weekend for Family Time, since we can have two a month with my job. We’re talking about a corn maze, a movie, or going to the Heber Creeper, a local train that has theme-oriented tours. If you have any helpful advice, it would be great since we’ve not done anything for years.

Plus, this is totally weird—I found my journal from 1992 –1994, some of the time missing from my memory that happened just before the whole Prozac thing. I was affected by two kinds, anterograde and retrograde amnesia. It’s weird reading it because even after doing so, I can’t remember. So it’s like reading the journal of a stranger. I wish I could have been my own best friend and given some sound advice because that girl was tripping, even though it’s evident she was trying her best to do the right thing. For example, when her boyfriend wanted to move in with her she told him she couldn’t because she was taking care of her little brother. She tried to help her sister too, but that fell through, leaving her flat and bewildered. I feel compelled to write my old self as another person because, like I said, she practically is. Some day I may figure out a way to write a movie about it after all—maybe a movie about the current me going back in time to help the past me. Naw, I’m sure that’s been done to death, besides all the movies I've seen depicting amnesia are way off base. For example, in Memento how in the world would Guy Pierce know he reads the Bible religiously if he can't remember anything? Frustrating to me.  I suppose I’ll just enjoy the real life version. I just hope it’s a happy ending!