winkgirl4's Diaryland Diary

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Working for the Devil

Working for the Devil

Last night, I found myself wondering why I was at this nursing home. Not that I'm opposed to visiting the elderly but... well, yeah, I'm just not that attentive. It's why I could never be a nurse or doctor. Sure, I go and visit my Nana. Hell, I even give my Nana baths. But am I going to visit a bunch of elderly people I don't love and care enough about to bathe? I'll admit it: probably not.

So you can imagine why I was wondering what I was doing in a nursing home. Even more peculiar was why all these people, dressed to the hilt in polyester, were writing out checks. Shocking and devastating was my answer when I looked to my right and found King George Dubya... err... I mean President Bush telling me that I needed to get them to make their checks out to "The Friends of Dubya."

I couldn't make sense of my being there, let alone why I was so willing to wrestle the check from the wrinkled hand of some woman in the back row, at the urging of our country's current Monarch. I looked around for something that would make all this seem real and the only thing I found was a girl (who looked a lot like me) on the other side of a picture window pointing at me and laughing.

When I woke up, I realized I had just dreamed about my own personal hell.

2:30 p.m. - 2003-03-10

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