President Trump alone in bed at night

I miss my mother, Mary. I always knew she loved me, even though she was a hard woman. I loved my father too, but realized when I was little that I’d never measure up to what he expected of his sons. Mother and father both grew up poor and didn’t want us to be like them. Father was especially hard on us all expecting the impossible. Sometimes, I think I’ve spent my life trying to live up to what he wanted. Brother Fred gave up early and drank himself to death.

Lying here alone in bed, I drift back to my childhood. Bed has never been a place where I sleep much. I’ve cultivated a reputation as a Romeo but I prefer to sleep alone. It feels safer. I don’t like people being that close, even Melania. She has her own apartment and staff in the White House. We see each other on state occasions.

I dread sleep and the dreams it brings, but my TV keeps my fears and dreams at bay, although it often makes me angry. I’m more comfortable with anger than fear. People don’t seem to understand who I really am. With all I do for people, they seem to only find the negative things or just make them up. Who wouldn’t prefer to watch people who say nice things about you? It doesn’t bother me except when I’m alone in here. I wish there had been a Fox Network, Rush Limbaugh, or One America Network when I was little. I wouldn’t have always been so afraid of not measuring up or of being found lacking.

Like any good businessman I’ve had my successes and my failures but the media seem to focus only on showing up my occasional failures, even though they only prove my courage. Almost all are the result of external conditions. Take Atlantic City for example or a few of my hotels. Every great businessman fails from time to time. It’s normal. Why aren’t they persecuted like me?

I thought, finally, as President I’d command the respect that my office deserves, not the petty meanness of a hostile press or the rich-hating opposition of a leftwing Congress.

I won’t let the world see my fear and sadness, just my well-deserved anger. If they saw me sad or afraid, I’d lose my power over my supporters, who shower me with their love.

Alone in bed I feel safe, as I did when I was a young boy and mother came to me.


Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray to Mitch my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray I’ll not be seen as fake.

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