by Mary O Paddock
Every word in this journal is Trish's fault. She wants me to record my daily activities, thoughts, and insights for one year. At the end of this year, we'll look through all the words I've written and find what's wrong with me. I'm not sure how this is supposed to help. I told her that I know words—I know them well—and they've never done anything except get me in trouble. But maybe I need more trouble in my life. It's obvious I need something.
Maybe what Ellen needs is a small shaggy mutt who can do something highly unusual. Something that lots of other people would be interested in. People with power. People with guns. One of them will lover her. Another just sees her as in the way.
Fassen: (ˈfasən): to believe