I'm going to give this Miraenda's NC-17 rating for mild young adult language and elderly situations

I'll also give it Leigh's NC-17 rating for total inanity, as well as geriatric complications experienced by a select group of the elderly

Not recommended for anyone over 50 either.  Come to think of it, not really recommended at all for that matter.  A warning is in effect for the well-being of any sane would-be reader.


I suddenly awaken to both uncannily familiar and unfamiliar voices to find myself lying as if serenely in a casket.  I am in a casket! 

Talk about deja vu all over again.  I am old, and I begin to mentally prepare myself for the freakishness I'm about to experience. This includes, but is not restricted to, daily doctor visits, aches and pains that, if they were not there, I would forget I am alive, and sometimes I do, thanks either to them canceling each other out, or chronic senility and massive amounts of pharmaceuticals.  What's that you say, sonny?  You're whose granddaughter?  I can't hear you, youngin'.  You'll have to stop mumbling so loud.   Someone, I feel a number 2's a-comin'.   I think that's what I feel or smell.  Not sure.  Can somebody please help me?   Anyone?  Where's that call girl or that nurse or whatever, dang nabbit?  Oops, I did an uh-oh.   I think that's what I did.  Not sure about much of anything these days.  Somebody there to change my bedpan?  Time for my sponge bath, Mrs. Miserable-Because-You're-Short-Staffed-Nurse?  Is that really your name?  Just keep it above the equator, or my child I think I have somewhere too busy to ever see me will sue your pants off.  This is a miserable life.  I do hope it gets better.  It does.  Well, sort of.

Life rambles on quickly as if it has somewhere to go, and before I can remember my own phone number, I find myself feeling progressively stronger, less doctor visits are needed, although I do go from time to time just for something to do. So now I get to spend more time doing things I like to do, and less time trying to figure out why I put the car keys I probably shouldn't have anyway in the garbage disposal, or remembering what it was I was doing in the bedroom closet I couldn't find my way out of if my life depended on it.  Thank the good Lord it didn't happen on one of the days it actually would have.  Some of the things I enjoy doing are square dancin' with total strangers, line dancing with Cowboys on crutches dressed up as Indians, all-night-long strip majong until 9pm, bingo for the illegally blind 'till the usual bedtime of sunset, and local fire hall spaghetti dinners cooked by Chef Boyardee, who I heard through the grapevine they fly in straight from Rome, Georgia.   Did I just mention that I have trouble with my memory?  Anyway, I do have trouble remembering things, in case I didn't tell you that already.  Pardon if I tend to repeat myself, and I apologize if you have to yell at me so I can not hear what you say anyway.  I'm almost healthy enough to end my retirement.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  I guess it will be good to see old friends I haven't met yet, so we can reminisce and catch up on old times I'm about to experience.  Life flies when you're too old to know the difference between fun and tossing your colostomy bag at the patient next to you after having flashbacks of 'Nam or Deer Hunter.  I know I was a vet or a veterinarian in one of those Australian wars.  I sure hope time did fly, if only I could keep track of it like I will someday.

5 months before...

Well, I guess it's time to begin the ending of my career of 57 years.  I can't say I enjoy what I'm going to have to have already done all of those years, but you know as they say, it pays the bills.  I'm not sure who said that first, but someone of great intelligence, success, and prestige must have come up with that brilliant, trite expression, you can be sure of that.  Maybe it was Elvis or Sinatra, or it had to be one of those guys from the Rat Pack.  They sure did know how to entertain in those days.  But anyway, your darn tootin' it does pay them bills, yes it does somehow manage to do that, just like that great someone said it did for them. 

I guess the weather wasn't too bad today: partly cloudy, or is it mostly sunny?  Well, whatever it was it was pretty nice young feller, but I hear from both the weatherman and my arthritis, which is beginning to let up, there's going to be rain the rest of the week, so I've got the poncho and galoshes ready, yeah buddy. 

Can you believe what they're charging for gas these days?  I remember when gas used to be twenty-five cents per gallon, yesiree.  In fact if you didn't have money, they just honored your guarantee to pay somebody someday if you had a nice, firm handshake, and they'd send you off with a high-five, you could keep the change, and they even offered to wipe down your windshield as a courtesy for not payin'.  What happened to those days?  I really am asking, what happened to those days, because for some reason, I have a feeling I'm exaggerbating, is that how you say it?  Maybe I should check under the couch cushions for them, and what was I talking about, the remote? 

And that younger generation, with their carefree, heavy metal, hip hop, shoot 'em up bad attitude.  When I was their age, we didn't get our bananas like these spoiled kids do in some super-center store, or even the supermarket for that matter.  We had to walk backwards in all sorts of weather to Dole, South America.  We traveled in posses back in those days, and we had to fight angry Mexicans along the way.  Many times they wouldn't even have bananas when we got there, and we'd have to eat the Mexicans' food after giving them a friendly beating and then helping them up, which i guess is why they were often angry, and it's also how Mexican food came to America, because we'd bring it back even when it was impossible.  Then if they did have bananas, we had to carry them in canoes, which we carried on our shoulders, each of us his own in single file as we marched and sang Yankee Doodle Dandy, and people sometimes threw fake change in our canoes if we were lucky, perhaps wheat penny’s or penny candy, which was a lot of money to have in those days and so on and so forth yada yada yada.   Even when we didn't need the canoe because we were on land, we still had to carry it.  What's that you ask?  Why did we need to do that?  Well, what the dickens are you going to do with it?  So anyway, we carried the bananas, if we could even get any bananas, which we weren't sure if we would get any bananas and we had to keep them from spoiling in the Mojave desert without all of this fancy technology they have nowadays, like those fancy shmancy super turbo charged ice cream trucks that lock in the freshness of anything you might like to keep fresh.  Where did I hear about them?  Don't you ever read the tabloids or popular mechanics, missy, while you're waiting all Saturday in the barber shop to have your neck shaved by a straight razor professional while talking the barber's head off?  I don't mean literally, of course.  Am I repeating anything I've said?  Well, I get the inkling a lot of time has passed, but anyways about that really dandy transistor radio I was telling you about.... 

56 years before...

Wow!  This is much better! I've made it to the beginning of my career, and it's almost time to start graduating from college.  Woohoo!  Hmmm...what job should I begin, though?  There are so many things I could choose to pursue to finish starting for a career, and I guess this does have something to do with whether I should choose to have went to college at all, and if so, what college I should choose, and what degree I should decide to begin to graduate with at the graduation ceremony.  Well, after all of those run-on sentences, poor grammaticalous spelling, and scatterbrain memories, maybe I should just forget it and piss away my time.   Hmmm...well screw it anyway, haha.  It's time to party baby, it's prime time!  Kill whitey, or on second thought, don't do that.  Fight The Man, the establishment that ruined the last 60 years of my life, in addition to the life of Martin Luther King Jr., Don King,  JFK Jr. and Sr., Curly, Larry, Moe, Jethro, Gary Coleman, John Lennon, and just too many more to mention them all by name.  Power to the people!  And by the way, you know anywhere I can score some good weed, Miss Merry, Mary J's?  Last Call?  Closing Time?  The window of opportunity is closing?  For real?

Some time passes, who knows how long...

What!?  I've become too young to legally drink and buy cigarettes, and I'm about to lose my drivers permit because I'm no longer old enough to drive?!  I have to move in with my parents?!  I have to get a paper route and debate with customers on how many months they haven't paid, or hear about how great their grandkids are while I rake their leaves in exchange for a fingernail clipper to add to the collection when I really just want to finish the route and go home? 

Some more time passes...

What happened to my prime time, that window of opportunity I thought would never end?  This sucks!  And what is with my memory getting, uh, you know, like, better and better, but I keep losing things I like, used to know?

Time keeps passing, but who's keeping track....

 I have to go to high school?!  What kind of crummy jive is that, man?  Not groovy at all.  This really sucks, you know what I mean, yo?!  Zits, insecurity, peer pressure, nagging parents, and still to come: beginning the ending of puberty.  Oh, man, I almost wish I was back collecting social security.

Many blue moons pass...

 I'm not going to waste time writing this stupid paper about my life that will get me nowhere in the past, anyway.  Do I really have to write one more paragraph, Mrs. Baboonbutt?  Hellevision and video games, and leave me alone.  That is what I did last summer.

6 years preceding the previous paragraph before the following paragraph...

This is strange...I'm losing my sense of self, and I have no idea what I'm saying, kind of like the beginning of this, or was it the ending?.  My memory is better...than...ever....but I can't process my experiences in a way that I can relate them ...to others...Waaahhhhhh....what...the...heck...is...going....on...W...Wa...Waa...Waaahhhhh!!!!

Is the journal that of John Doe or Jane Doe? Or is it Jon or Johnne or Jayne or Jaen Doe (or maybe Jerry or Jerri or Jerrie Doe for that matter)? 

Kinda reminds me of the backward episode of Seinfeld actually although the story has a different emphasis/content itself. 

Yeah, I'd say that question's right up there with "was there a second shooter on the grassy knoll" and the meaning of life question.  So Miraenda, what is your answer?  J. Doe, male or female?  What does the internal evidence tell you, and does it reveal this answer or leave it kind of ambiguous?  How many males play majong?  Then again, is there a such thing as strip majong?  How many females get their neck shaved at a barbar shop?  If a person like this does exist, whether male or female, black, white, or any color for that matter, I definitely think they would feel right at home on the Jerry Springer show. 

Imagine living a life like this, and then having to relive it again in reverse, well sort of reverse.  Is it really in reverse?  Poor J. Doe doesn't even seem to know.  You know your whole life is going to suck, and you have to relive what you were glad to die to in the first place. 

And yeah, I see the Seinfeld connection.  Have you seen all of the episodes?  I didn't consciously get the idea for the story from that episode, but I wouldn't doubt its subconscious influence.  If there really is a such thing as demon possession, why not Seinfeld possession?  Know any good Seinfeld exorcists by any chance?  I wonder if Keanu Reeves does that on the side to make ends meet and yada yada yada

I think I have a smiley possession as I picked that one smiley that is going backwards and didn't consciously pick it to represent the backward idea of the story or question at all.  How freaky is that (or if leigh were around, she might use the pathetic word instead, but it would be too pathetic to call myself pathetic)?

Miraenda, I think you're just messing with me, aren't you?       Harry Potter is at it again.  Just when I let my guard down, he starts using his black magic to make all of these bizarre subconscious, freaky, pathetic things occur in the lives of our sacred little community.