The Million Dollar Ragdoll
[Editor's Note: This series on the case of Terri Shiavo was originally posted in chronological order over the past two days. It has been reordered so you can read it in the correct sequence.]
Hey, God,
It's me again. Have you been watching the news lately? I guess you make the news and kind of know what's coming already, so maybe not. Or maybe you're like those people who set a fire and then come back to see it and then stay up late to watch the news and then buy a bunch of copies of the paper the next day. Then they want to set another fire 'cause they love the feeling.
Probably not, though.
Either way, you must know what's going on. How my parents' home movies are all over the Internet, starting with their Web site. I don't actually know what a Web site is, since 15 years ago was the last chance I would've had to see one, and there weren't any.
Sounds cool, though. From what I can gather (it's hard, believe me, with no cerebral cortex), the Internet holds practically everything that ever was and it just keeps going on forever and ever. You can go there and be anybody you want to be. Not physically, of course. You just stay where you are and your spirit just goes there and you can stay as long as you want because it never closes.
Sort of like heaven, I imagine.
But anyway, there I am on the Web. I hope they at least they picked a cute picture, 'cause I looked sooo fat in my wedding dress. I was just getting to look hot when I had that heart attack. What I look like now, I can only guess, but I know they haven't been plucking my eyebrows.
Actually, it sounds kind of gross, having millions of people looking at me and talking about me and debating over me and they don't know me at all except what other people say about me. How do they think I got in this mess? I hated people looking at me a judging me and wanting me to be something for them.
Something perfect.
And now I'm stuck here, worse than ever, but all over the Web. More than a million hits on Google, stuff about me multiplied into the millions more. Google. A nonsense garble gargle word for infinity. I can relate.
That's all for now. Mom's here with some doctor and they want me to look at another balloon.
Bye for now,
Terri
P.S.
Why is everybody so scared of death? Why do I have to be their ragdoll? Why don't you comfort them at night?
Hey, God,
It's me again. Have you been watching the news lately? I guess you make the news and kind of know what's coming already, so maybe not. Or maybe you're like those people who set a fire and then come back to see it and then stay up late to watch the news and then buy a bunch of copies of the paper the next day. Then they want to set another fire 'cause they love the feeling.
Probably not, though.
Either way, you must know what's going on. How my parents' home movies are all over the Internet, starting with their Web site. I don't actually know what a Web site is, since 15 years ago was the last chance I would've had to see one, and there weren't any.
Sounds cool, though. From what I can gather (it's hard, believe me, with no cerebral cortex), the Internet holds practically everything that ever was and it just keeps going on forever and ever. You can go there and be anybody you want to be. Not physically, of course. You just stay where you are and your spirit just goes there and you can stay as long as you want because it never closes.
Sort of like heaven, I imagine.
But anyway, there I am on the Web. I hope they at least they picked a cute picture, 'cause I looked sooo fat in my wedding dress. I was just getting to look hot when I had that heart attack. What I look like now, I can only guess, but I know they haven't been plucking my eyebrows.
Actually, it sounds kind of gross, having millions of people looking at me and talking about me and debating over me and they don't know me at all except what other people say about me. How do they think I got in this mess? I hated people looking at me a judging me and wanting me to be something for them.
Something perfect.
And now I'm stuck here, worse than ever, but all over the Web. More than a million hits on Google, stuff about me multiplied into the millions more. Google. A nonsense garble gargle word for infinity. I can relate.
That's all for now. Mom's here with some doctor and they want me to look at another balloon.
Bye for now,
Terri
P.S.
Why is everybody so scared of death? Why do I have to be their ragdoll? Why don't you comfort them at night?
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