Dear Diary,
That balding fat therepist of mine continued his string of stupidity at my last session on Friday. He tells me to write Phil a letter where I "act as if nothing bad can come from it". I bet that asshole is on his fourth or fifth marriage. I don't know why I continue to go to him, I guess it's because of the close proximity to my house. Margaret told me that her therapist can read her mind. Oh gosh, if I could retain some therapy guru, he could be my confidant and together we'd solve all my foolish problems. Anyway, here's what I came up with so far...
Dear Phil,
I hate you so much, and I'm so sorry. When I'm next to you in bed I hate it. I hate looking at you and seeing you breathe. Damn I sound harsh, but I'm not meaning to. It's just things have changed so much between us, and I know I'm at least partially to blame. I always think of your sister's 40th birthday party when I sat on Linda's husband's lap, and how angry you were. I was drunk Phil. Plus I was getting rather sick of always playing second fiddle to whichever one of your receptionists was on the payroll at the time. Quite frankly I've endured a lot during all 17 years of this marriage and Phil I've finally woken up. I'm not even going to ask you to give up your insignificant affairs and short-lived relations, I know you're much too selfish. Rather, I'm giving you some notice that I will be engaging in my own escapades shortly and your involvement is not requested. And who knows Phil, maybe one day I'll be gone, and when you send for me it'll take days, and you won't like the response...
It could use some work, but it's not bad so far. I'm gonna go off to sleep now.
XOXO
Elizabeth Wilder
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