Friday, August 5th, 1870

* Snob                                                      * Soft hearted
* Prone to excessive bouts of guilt.    * Loyal
* Greedy                                                  * Brave
* Judgmental                                         * Independent
* Pessimistic                                          * Intelligent
* Quick to Violence                              * Funny
* Myopic                                                 * Accomplished
* Licentious                                           * Empathic
* Selfish                                                  * Polite
* Manipulative                                      * Adventurous
* Deceitful                                              * Well-bred
* Poor

Dear Diary,

    I’ve been thinking, lately, about the sort of person I aspire to be. I want top be good and just. I want to have faith in myself, but also in something more. To think of others before myself is my highest ambition (all others having fallen by the wayside).

    How shall I accomplish this?

    First, I needs must “take stock,” as they say, of those characteristics which currently define my person. My greatest sins all stem from the shoots of common enough faults: licentiousness and my tendency to judge others too rashly. My virtues, if I can honestly be said to retain any, arise from having been gifted by the creator with an excess of empathy and loyalty. In my favor, I boast the skills of an educated lady with a penchant for adventure. Past misdeeds weight down my spirit, though, igniting a barrage of megative, self-loathesome thoughts that cripple any progress I might make toward fashioning a better character. At least, that is how I view matters. Perhaps others see me differently.

    I wonder how much of myself I would retain compared to how much might be lost if I were to go forward with this plan of mine. Would the drug rob from me only memories, or would I also lose knowledge? Would I know my name? English? How to sail a skiff or play a piano? It is impossible to tell.

    Perhaps I should leave notes for myself:

  • Your name is Palabra Puddlegum.
  • Read Mrs. Beaton’s Book of Household Management.
  • Matilda is your maid.
  • You look best in purple and green.

How curious it is to contemplate matters so. I wonder, Diary, is it possible for a person to survive solely by leaving intructive notes?

I shall have to pause and consider this before approaching a scientist or apothecary.

Ever yours,
–Miss Palabra Puddlegum–

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