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Diary of a Princeton Student

copyright 2002, by Drandmrslecter

Disclaimer:    Dr. Hannibal Lecter was created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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“So what’s your opinion? A missing person or a homicide?”

“Not sure. We don’t have a whole hell of a lot to go on. Except this.”

“You shouldn’t be messing with that. It’s evidence tampering.”

“What the fuck do you care, Graham? Who’s gonna find out? And besides, do you know anyone who can resist reading a diary?”

October 4th, 1976

Dear Diary,

I knew my junior year was gonna be a bummer but so far, this has been one totally crappy semester. I hate every single class even more than I thought I would. And to make matters worse, Patrick still hasn’t called.

Joanna wants to study in her room, so I gotta go.


Dear Diary,

Busy day. I’m exhausted.

I hate so-called “higher learning”!

My heard hurts.

Till next time-

October 6th

Dear Diary,

This abnormal psych class is weird.

Instead of the upcoming midterm, our professor told us we could go hear some psychiatrist who’s up from Baltimore lecture on Multiple Personality Disorder at the library and write a paper on it. I think that’s what the chick in that movie "Sybil" had. He’s supposed to be one of the best shrinks in the country so this should be a trip.

Patrick still hasn’t called. Oh well.

Oct. 7

Dear Diary,

What is it about that movie “Rocky”? Every time I hear the name I think of that stupid flying squirrel.

Anyway, I’m going in a couple of days to hear that shrink from Maryland. My class was told to prepare a question, but I can’t be bothered. I’ll just wing it. I really don’t care about going to this damn thing and I told my professor so. He just looked at me and asked, “Do you want to pass this class or not?” I almost told him to fuck himself but thought twice.

I need more sleep.

Still haven’t heard from Patrick. I bet he’s gay.


Oct. 8th

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is the lecture by that doctor with the funny name. I’m going to bed early so I can get some stuff done around here.

I don’t want to go. I know my attitude sucks but that’s what happens when you’re told what school to go to ‘cause dear old Dad knows a dean and can buy your way in.

I hate my parents.



Dear Diary,

I gotta go to that Goddamn lecture today. I’ll write more when I can.

Oct. 9th

Well, that wasn’t too boring....

His name was Henibbal Lacttor (I think I spelled that right), and what he said was sorta cool.

When he started speaking, you could hear a pin drop. He was serious at first, but then made a sarcastic comment about how psychology wasn’t a real science and the entire audience started howling! Then he discussed the disorder and was kinda mocking it in this real sophisticated way, yet still showed some respect for the symptoms. It was strange how he kept looking in my direction and making eye contact with me. He’s got these really weird red eyes. Maybe he was smoking weed.

Anyway, about an hour into this thing, it was time to ask our questions. I had my hand raised, but he wasn’t calling on me. I figured it was now or never, so before the chick he called on could ask her's, I beat her to it, stood up and asked the first thing that popped into my head: Something like:

“If psychiatrists are so insightful, then how come none of you are smart enough to realize that half, if not most of your patients are going to wind up committed to the loony bin anyway, so why bother trying to prevent it with treatment? In other words, committal, even for a brief period of time is mostly inevitable, so why pretend that you can avoid it? What you’re doing is pointless”. I suppose I could have stopped there, but kept going. I figured if I had to suffer through his bullshit, why not make him suffer, too?

“I know it sounds good on paper, but your approach isn’t practical. In the long run, your attempts are nothing more than an exercise in futility. It’s like trying to swim against a strong current. You’ll never make it to shore.

“By the way, do you think Sally Field is gonna win an Emmy for “Sybil”? I like her. I don’t know why people rag on “The Flying Nun” so much. I kinda liked that show. Personally, I think it was a lot better than “Gidget”.”

Then I added,

“That reminds me. I had a dream last night that I was down the shore in this huge sandcastle when some whales showed up and threw an orgy. There were about eight of them screwing all around me and one of them had red hair. What do you think it means?”

He looked a bit annoyed, but at that point, I didn’t care. I guess I could have thought of something better to ask, but it didn’t matter to me. There would be plenty of other questions after mine.

He stared at me for a short time and then said something like “If that’s all you have to say Madame, then I’d appreciate it if you would sit back down and let the classmate you so rudely interrupted ask her question. It was her turn to speak, not yours.”

‘Madame’…hah! No one says that anymore, do they?

Everyone chuckled and I was embarrassed but considering that he could have a point, just smiled and stared at the clock so he could see I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

It was weird seeing him walk into the cafeteria about an hour later. You would think someone like that would be eating in the faculty lounge, but he walked in, glanced around, looked at me and left.

I have to admit, he looked great. He had on a very fitted navy blue suit with a white shirt. He’s got the darkest hair and those fucking red eyes! It’s gotta be the pot. Kinda cool.

I’m tired.



Dear Diary,

That was weird. I was at the library this afternoon doing my homework and that doctor who was our guest speaker yesterday walked in. He went up to the reference desk and was talking to the librarian about something, but it’s odd he’d still be hanging around a day after his lecture. He seemed to remember me and sorta smiled.

But what was even stranger is that he hung around for a bit then all of a sudden, seemed to vanish. I bet he’s doing some work with the psychology department. Or maybe he forgot something.

Still no word from Patrick.

Until tomorrow-


Oct. 11th

Dear Diary,

Patrick finally called. I knew it. He’s gay.

I have the worst luck with guys.

Well, at least I have the park. It’s getting dark and chilly, but there’s not a soul around and it feels good to be alonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

12 October, 1976

Dear Diary,

I’ve decided to leave Princeton and take a job out on the West coast; Los Angeles, perhaps. True, the smog can be a bit tedious to deal with on a daily basis, but I find that the climate, for the most part, can be rather charming.

Please excuse the abrupt manner in which I ended my last entry. I had to catch my bus back to campus and, as luck would have it, managed to get the last one that would be running for the day.

This will likely be the last journal entry I make. I find that keeping a diary can be a most dreary task when one is faced with other, more relevant chores.

By the way, I was thumbing through a periodical at my dentist’s office this afternoon and came across a lovely recipe for dip. I’ve committed it to memory in case I’m ever caught unawares.

A memory palace can be quite a practical place at times.




copyright 2002, by Drandmrslecter

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