The doctors told me I should keep a journal. I'd dig to hades if it would shut them up.

It's Thursday today, the weather was nice. A pretty girl named Jennifer visited me. She said she was my daughter. I hope she is. She had a good head on her shoulders. I told her she should get married. She said she would but she was a lesbian. I don't know what that is but it sounds nice.

The cafeteria was having chicken soup for dinner. It was horrid stuff, nothing like what Anna used to make; it needed more salt. Which reminds me, the doctors pretend to be nice but they still won't let me see my wife. I lost my temper today and started yelling at one of the nurses. How dare they not let me see my wife. And that young idiot had the gall to lie to my face. Told me that she was dead. What a load of horse shit. I saw her the other day, picture of health. I'll have to speak to someone about getting out of here. Can't remember why I went in in the first place. There isn't anything wrong with me. I have to stop writing now. They're about to tell me its bedtime. I can hear their footsteps. Absolutely ridiculous, telling a grown man like me that it's bedtime. Most of them are young enough to be my kids for god's sake!

It's Friday today, the weather was nice. A pretty girl named Jennifer visited me. She said she was my daughter. I hope she is; she had a good head on her shoulders. She seemed strangely familiar.

.

I've lost my memory, but I have ink
so.
I will attempt to substitute text for texture,
crude sentences for warm embraces, and
an elaborate fiction in place of
faithful reproduction.

I am sure to leave things out
as my imagination takes
liberties.

What I say will not be what happened
my version of the events will be
ever and always
what I have written,

not what I remember; not what you remember.

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