Day 2: My Observations-a scientific report

June 7, 1994

Today for breakfast they gave me something much better. Safer. Cheerios.

Not much excitement surrounding them. Except, I did find something strange. I have never, ever liked milk. Even when growing up, my parents always pushed drinking milk on me and I resisted, like it was lima beans or broccoli or some other shit parents tell kids they have to eat otherwise they won’t grow big and strong. A perpetual calcium deficient Peter Pan. But today, this morning I craved milk. I drank three of the little cartons they have plus the carton in my bowl of Cheerios.

I’ve accepted that this may be part of my new life. I write things AND drink milk. It is quite refreshing. The both are.

My therapist is impressed with my willingness to take her advice and start this “journal”, as she calls it. I’m reframing it to be cooler and renaming it “my observations”. It sounds fucking cool, scientific and less dear diary type of shit.

My therapist, her name is Susan, seemed surprised that I actually wrote in this damn thing. Which irritated me, for two reasons. One, after seeing me for one session, does she think I’m the type of person to not do what I say I’m going to do? Or, irritating reason number two, her apparent surprise is because patients rarely take her advice. Which pisses me off more than Susan thinking that I don’t have any follow through.

I want to think people are smart. But looking at all these assholes, especially here, people are fucking idiots. Someone went to school, for at least 8 years, to teach you assholes how to live a great life. They’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to help you. But you think you know better than they do. You go ahead, ignore their advice. Smoke your cigarettes flying a kite near power-lines. Drink your whiskey-tonic pregnant while running with scissors. And then get pissed off when you get hurt. Ungrateful idiot assholes.

I was one of those idiots too. Not the smoking kind. I did enjoy the drinks. But, I had no time for advice from doctors, teachers, or pretty much anyone in authority. I was the master of my, losing, game. King of my, empty, castle. I sure the hell wasn’t going to let some yuppie, who didn’t know the things I knew, tell me how to live my stellar life.

I’m writing these fucking scientific observations in protest to my old self. In protest of those idiots who don’t take smart advice. Yes, Susan, I do follow through and no, I’m not one of those assholes, anymore.

Until tomorrow, yours truly.