Jill thought she should maybe write the journal. It was fast becoming her final decision.
Her therapist, Johnson, said it would help.
Jill knew Johnson really meant do something, anything. Don't give up. Life is good!
Whatever.
Jill knew she had never liked writing, but she thought about Johnson's words and she had rationalized down to: when was the last time she had wrote anything besides a grocery list, anyway?
Jill knew she liked to talk and that is why Jill was a telemarketer.
Higher paid than most.
Her therapist was praised often, by others, who seemed sane.
Jill would follow his advice.
Jill thought to stop at the Wal-Mart on her way home. She needed dog kibble. She needed shampoo and a plant.
And she needed a notebook, too, she reminded herself, when she walked through the doors of Wal-Mart.
But Jill soon forgot, and then remembered, while she was in the checkout line. When she saw the bright orange notebooks. For ninety-seven cents.
So, Jill bought one, and a black pen, too, with her dog kibble. And her shampoo and her plant. The cashier's name was LYNDA.
Jill went to the park the next day because it was a Saturday.
This was a nice park.
A nature park.
Except for the benches and picnic tables, that is.
The park Jill went to had lots of trees; Jill chose a picnic bench, beneath one.
Jill wrote the date on the first lined paged of the notebook.
And then that was it.
Jill lived in San Francisco. And Jill was a lovely girl, in all reality.
She truly would have liked Jack.
But more importantly, on that Saturday, Jill had worn her favourite dress to the park. Which happened to be purple, with white polka dots. Jill wore it whenever she could.
But poor, poor Jack.
He lived in Chicago.
This is a guy who gets no breaks, folks.
Her therapist, Johnson, said it would help.
Jill knew Johnson really meant do something, anything. Don't give up. Life is good!
Whatever.
Jill knew she had never liked writing, but she thought about Johnson's words and she had rationalized down to: when was the last time she had wrote anything besides a grocery list, anyway?
Jill knew she liked to talk and that is why Jill was a telemarketer.
Higher paid than most.
Her therapist was praised often, by others, who seemed sane.
Jill would follow his advice.
Jill thought to stop at the Wal-Mart on her way home. She needed dog kibble. She needed shampoo and a plant.
And she needed a notebook, too, she reminded herself, when she walked through the doors of Wal-Mart.
But Jill soon forgot, and then remembered, while she was in the checkout line. When she saw the bright orange notebooks. For ninety-seven cents.
So, Jill bought one, and a black pen, too, with her dog kibble. And her shampoo and her plant. The cashier's name was LYNDA.
Jill went to the park the next day because it was a Saturday.
This was a nice park.
A nature park.
Except for the benches and picnic tables, that is.
The park Jill went to had lots of trees; Jill chose a picnic bench, beneath one.
Jill wrote the date on the first lined paged of the notebook.
And then that was it.
Jill lived in San Francisco. And Jill was a lovely girl, in all reality.
She truly would have liked Jack.
But more importantly, on that Saturday, Jill had worn her favourite dress to the park. Which happened to be purple, with white polka dots. Jill wore it whenever she could.
But poor, poor Jack.
He lived in Chicago.
This is a guy who gets no breaks, folks.
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