Location: still Paris

Days since I've heard from Rhett: ~200 days

Should I stop counting? Yes.

Important life decisions: 0.5

- I've made the decision to rent rooms out of the house, and no, it wasn't easy. I understand I am risking social leprosy. I could just wrap the whole house up and let it sit, but that doesn't make much financial sense. Why let it sit, when I could have it generate income? Push comes to shove, I'd prefer to be a well-to-do social leper than a poor, middle-aged, lonely one.

When society asks, I could simply say:

1) I decided to travel indefinitely

2) the children are at boarding school, and the house was too quiet after Bonnie's death (the B-card might shut people up), so I'd like some life in the house

3) I will brainstorm more BS later

I did think of what Rhett would say about the house, but then I realized something: I have not heard from the man in 200 days.

Mammy says society will gossip incessantly. As if I don't know, but there's nothing to upkeep my reputation for. Rhett's gone, and I've ushered the children out of the house. Mammy says to think of the children, but I told her there are none. I sent them to boarding school for a reason, and they aren't coming home soon, just as I won't return soon.

In other shitty news, despite my earlier statements, I write to Wade and Ella every other week now, give or take a few. Sometimes I forget. I send postcards of Paris, and I wish them well. Mammy asks me if I thought postcards took care of everything... Annoying. I don't know where people get these ideas. Since when was a postcard an attempt to change someone's life? She asked if I ever wondered whether the children felt abandoned, but I don't think about it. I just felt like sending postcards.

I said, "Mammy, they should get over it and learn about real life problems. They don't know real shittiness. They never ate dirt. They've never been homeless. Their lives are better than most." She just kept saying children need a mother, and I sigh. I do miss Mellie. If she were alive, she would have been a wonderful surrogate.

In truth, I can't relate to my own needy-ass children. Whether it's from the war or not, I don't know. She's shocked when I say, "Mammy, they'll be fine. I lost Ma and Pa, and I made out okay."

She asked me if I thought I was fine, and I was like, um... I know what she means, but I just thought she'd know by now. I told her, "Mammy, I've been a bitch before Ma & Pa died. No need to blame my shittiness on their deaths or the war."

I made a bitter face from taking a swig of Brandy, but Mammy thought I was making it at her. I shrugged and said absentmindedly, "I feel how I feel."

Mammy shook her head and muttered "chile, youse has a drinkin problem, an I dun likes it."

I poured myself another. I'll give her that one, but there are worse things to be than an alcoholic.

208 days.

Nightmares this week: 2

Crazy hallucinations: 1

Last night was the one covered in mist. It always makes me think of the war. Only, I wasn't looking for anything. I've never known what it means to have a recurring dream, but I've come to the conclusion that not all answers are complex. Maybe there is no answer. Maybe I'm just a boring dreamer. I think it's more horrifying for those watching me than it is for myself. After all, a dream isn't reality.

Tonight, I'm writing because I had trouble falling asleep. 2 hours ago, I started a cheap Merlot and set it on a table. I wanted to see if cheap was better or worse than the expensive shit. Maybe it's all shit.

When I reclined in my chair and glanced at the glass, the red became blood, and I felt trapped. Sometimes, you remember shit you don't want to. I remembered Montgomery. I wrote his final letter home for him. I can't recall his first name, but I remember his last. I remembered thinking that no one else ever would. Like our past, his existence would float away. More dust in the wind.

He had a shrapnel wound to the shoulder, not even to the heart, but we both knew he was dying. What a terrible and pointless way to die. In his last moments, I held his hand, but all I could say was, "everybody dies." There's no comfort in death.

Working in the hospitals, I saw most parents never found their sons, and most sons died alone. The shit they tell you about dying being whole again/joining your kin in the afterlife are just words to dampen fear. I was surrounded by infections and disease, remnants of the South, as Rhett would have said back then. And who would have known? Lincoln had only recruited for 90 days, and we all thought it would be a short war, but every night, I bathed in a different soldier's blood.

Beau was born shortly thereafter. He was born in the most unfortunate time. I became even more determined not to have children during the war. Who would want to bring life into a world like that? I never understood Mellie and why she was always called it a gift... even more so after it killed her. I'd give anything to kick some sense into her. Sigh.

I wonder if she really loved Ashley, or if she knew what romantic love was. Mellie was dedicated and faithful to anyone shoved into her life, even me. You might as well have given her Frank, and she would've treated him as she did Ashley. She would've spent days making him the same uniform she made Ashley, although it couldn't improve his looks. I will never understand why she died, when shittier people like me, Ashley, or Rhett didn't.

I think about what she would've said to Montgomery. If I had a daughter, I would've wanted her to be like Mellie (don't remind me I already have one). With my DNA, I realize that's questionable. As much as I loved Bonnie, she would've never been like her. Mellie's the kind of person no one would believe existed unless they knew her, and like the old life, she's but a memory now. I'm afraid sometimes I'll forget her, like everyone else has forgotten Montgomery.

Rhett would've been happier with someone like Mellie. She would've been a good wife. For all of Rhett's insight and foresight, he really picked the wrong one. He should've said, "Psycho. Where's the exit." But he didn't, and now we're both middle-aged fuck-ups.

Author Note: I am attempting to gauge viewer interest in the series to assess further continuation. If you are enjoying it, reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your time and the guest reviews thus far, and I hope you've had a few laughs.