So I'm just gonna write stuff down. Just whatever I think. Anything you know.
So far I have 14 words. 20! Ha!
Mainly, though, about bein' on the presidential campaign. Which is a blessing that happened to me, just out of the blue. Like I was made Queen, which is a dream. Every girl's dream, I think, to be made Queen like that. No crown or anything, but still.
And bless God's hand for coming in and saving the election. Although it sure doesn't feel like He's saving anything. More like He's cursed us and made life difficult for me personally. But I guess that's how God tests our faith. Throws us into situations, puts the world on our shoulders and then watches the weight of it crush us into dust. Although I sorta wonder why He didn't just choose Mike Huckabee. I mean, there was a servant with some actual training for this.
Not that I'm second-guessing the Father. Just saying, maybe if He had it to do over.
Dear Diary -- If anyone finds you, and thinks I wrote this, Schmidt will have my head on a pike. It will be like that movie.
Dear Diary -- If anyone finds you, this was all written by Bristol, pretending to be me. Bristol has these loopy Rs, that's how you can tell.
But so I want to write down all that's happening, because it's life changing and also history. I do believe that. John McCain as president would be historical, to elect such a maverick. And I'm right there, like in a movie but one starring me rather than where I'm in the audience, which is beyond description, and gives me chills, and also the doctor says keeping this diary will help ease the symptoms of my clinical depression (his words).
But bless him, he's such a good Joe. Has those eyes. Travels on the plane with us. Tonight I'm gonna make a prayer intercession on his behalf.
So anyways, bein' on the campaign plane, a lot goes on. For one thing, just right off the bat, it's a busy plane. Lots of folks in blazers talking, everyone wearing pressed shirts and strategizing, implementing those planks in our platform, keeping them firm. Very tense in here and a lot of them look real good. And what people don't realize, about depression, is that it's not like a pit. Or a black cloud, even. It's
more like a hollowness that leaves you with no strength, none. You just go through the days, empty inside, and you see something beautiful and you just break down because all you can feel is the dull echo of your own heart.
If we lose, there's no way Levi will marry Bristol. They'll put off the date and he'll disappear, I know it. Probably go up on the Slope. I can see it but I'm powerless to stop it and Todd is no help, which is typical.
Track never writes. One e-mail when he was first deployed and that's it. Like it was easy to get that suspended sentence expunged for his volunteering. And for him to be living history. That was a gift, too.
But I want to say, about John McCain, who is truly such a maverick--diary I feel I have to tell you that--but he is not like you'd think.
Doesn't talk much, for one. Used to talk a lot, people say, but now he just listens to what is said, grunts, and glares around the room like someone pissed him off. Which, I'm sorry but I didn't. Hey, have a little fun! Or at least pretend, right? You're running for president.
And he and Cindy don't talk. Not ever. Todd and I, yes we're past our best years, but he will try to reach his hand up my skirt, or tease me about how this CEO put his arm around me, or leered at me or whispered in my ear--all part of being a woman in politics, you know. But Todd knows I would never do anything, because if I did he would just absolutely murder me, on the spot and without a trace. He'd maybe even use the dogs.
But that's the way Todd wants it, even if the terror means I fear him like death and won't let him touch me. Which he also doesn't understand, and which I can't explain, and which the doctor says he might prescribe something for if this diary doesn't reverse my prognosis (his words again). Sometimes though, life sure feels like an unending and unbearable torment and even your faith is not always enough.
Oh gosh! I have to run. Time just flew by. But Steve is yelling at me about that paper on health care policy I was supposed to read, and also we're touching down somewhere. Idaho, I think, although honestly anymore it's all the same. Veering more and more off the teleprompter. Just saying more and more what I really think. Steve says concentrate but I just can't.
Anyway, take care diary, more soon.
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