August 1

Hiya, Kelly.

Look, this isn't my idea. The SBPD shrink is making me keep a journal to stay on the police payroll…something about "documenting my emotional stability" for insurance reasons. How messed up is that? Seriously. Who's more emotionally stable than a psychic?

Anyway, since I have to write everyday, and I'm sure as hell not going to say "Dear Journal", I figured if I just pretend you're a woman….I'm thinking blonde with an IQ somewhere between beets and pineapples…I won't feel like Doogie Howser.

So far, it's not working.

Maybe if I bought you a drink…

Okay, what am I supposed to say now, Doc? Want me to tell you where the bodies are buried? (That's a joke, relax).

Guess I'll be back tomorrow.

-Shawn

August 2

I asked today. Apparently, one entry doesn't constituent conclusive proof of emotional stability.

Damn.

Maybe tomorrow…

Just to be safe, I better start covering everything.

Emotional Depth: To be, or not to be…actually, I think it's Room 4C.

Sincere Effort At Self-Reflection: I really like pizza.

Childhood Traumas: My parents are divorced and my father is a former cop. I think that qualifies me for a lifetime of therapy right there.

Umm….not that I need it….I'm a well-adjusted member of society with no repressed anger towards my father at all.

Damnit! Why'd I write in pen? Now I can't erase it!

-Shawn

August 3

Since Gus won't write even one entry for me, I guess I'm stuck doing it.

Sometimes I wonder why I let him tag along. Clearly, he's the Zeppo to my Chico.

And I think we all know who the Grouch-o is. Yeah, you heard me, Lassie! Don't deny it! You know you're reading this!

By the way, I'm the one who stole your bagel last week.

And I'm the one who told the Chief you didn't want a raise because the work was its own reward.

Oh, and that wasn't blood on your bullet proof vest. I may have used it as protection in a paintball war with Gus…

Long story.

Umm…on second thought, you probably shouldn't read this, Lassie. It might make that vein in your forehead explode, and that would just be tragic.

-Shawn.

August 4

Did you know that if you stare as Lassie long enough (don't say anything, just stare…) he'll turn four different shades of purple before he finally snaps and threatens to staple your entrails to his desk? Try it sometime. It's fun.

Did you know that if you really want to piss off my dad, all you have to do is take the batteries from his remote and use them in your PSP?

Anyway, that was my day.

What did you do?

August 5

As much as I've tried to avoid this, I can't anymore.

Something…actually kinda happened today. So…I guess…

Dear Journal:

It wasn't a big deal or anything…I just forgot something.

Okay, I didn't forget it. It's even worse than that.

I didn't see it.

How could I not see it? I mean it was staring me right in the face! Gus saw it first. Heck, even Lassie saw it before I did.

That damn Waldo! Where WAS he?!

August 6

Garbage Can Basketball Score:

Me: 734 Gus: 0

Of course, if you ask him, you'll get a different score. But mine's written down, so it must be true.

August 7

Am I slipping?

The other day, it was Waldo. Today, I missed something else.

I guess it wasn't any big deal, but I'm starting to get irritated.

I wouldn't care if my dad hadn't been there. But of course he was. And of course he knew I messed up. He always knows when I mess up.

It was a stupid thing. I got the wrong change back at the store. It was just off by a penny, but I didn't notice. I wasn't thinking, I didn't care. I wouldn't have noticed if Dad hadn't said something.

"That's just basic math, Shawn. One dime and two pennies is only twelve cents, not thirteen."

And of course he wouldn't let it drop.

One more day like this, and I may have to get out of the psychic game.

What kind of psychic can't find Waldo and gets the wrong change?

August 8

So, the record is up to five shades of red on Lassie's face. And all it took was a whoopee cushion! Who knew?

Of course, he threatened me with bodily harm…but I think he's bluffing. Besides, I'm pretty sure using my eyes as golf balls would violate some sort of golf course etiquette. If there's one thing Lassie would never violate, it's golf course etiquette.

Jules thought it was funny, at least. I love watching her laugh. And I never really noticed it before, but she looks awfully good in pink…

Ooops, sorry, Kelly. I probably shouldn't talk about other women in front of you. Don't be all jealous, though. Me and Jules are just friends.

August 9

I finally got a new case today, after about ten years of waiting. It's a good one, too. A grizzly murder.

Fun Fact: "A grizzly murder" doesn't mean the victim was killed by a grizzly bear. You learn something new everyday, don't you?

August 10

What's going on?

Seriously, I'm starting to freak out.

I know I'm not paranoid now. Even Gus asked me if I was okay. He didn't want to come right out and say it, but I could see it in his eyes. He thinks I've lost it, too.

Maybe I have.

We were at the crime scene for hours today, and I just couldn't see anything. I mean, I saw stuff…blood, fibers, the usual…but I didn't see anything. I stared at a broken lamp for a full twenty minutes and…nothing. I knew it meant something…I knew it was important…but I didn't know why.

Maybe Dad got in my head.

August 11

Gus was wearing a blue shirt today.

Jules was wearing yellow.

Lassie was wearing…a scowl.

There. I remembered. I'm not slipping. I'm okay.

Right?

August 12

I punched a window and got five stitches in my hand.

Long story.

Short version: I asked for no pickles.

August 13

The Chief wanted some sort of psychic vision on the murder case. I couldn't give her one. Not even a vague, fill-in-the-blanks the-person's-name-starts-with-an-M-or-maybe-that's-a-T routine. I had nothing.

She told me I had 24 hours or I'm off the case.

Gus went back to his day job.

What the hell is going on?

On the bright side, Jules was wearing pink again.

August 14

Officially, I'm off the case.

Unofficially, there's no way in hell I'm off this case.

If you think Lassie's a pain in the ass on a good day (and who doesn't?) you should see him when he thinks he's won. He's been grinning like a demented leprechaun for two days. Of course, I'm gonna beat him. I don't know how…but I will. I already have an undercover operative in the Department helping me. To protect her identity, I'll just call her Agent Ules-jay.

Make that Ent-Gay Ules-Jay!

I've already uncovered some new information.

Apparently, there wasn't a grizzly murder.

It was a grisly one.

This changes everything!

August 15

Since I'm sort of not welcome at the Department right now, I can't be sure…but rumor has it Lassie may have had twenty-seven pizzas delivered to his desk today.

Twenty-seven pizzas, and one Hug-O-Gram.

God bless cell phone cameras.

And God Bless Ent-Gay Ules-Jay for knowing how to use one.

August 16

Not even the picture of Lassie being hugged by a giant teddy bear could cheer me up today. I spent all night looking over the case again… and nothing. Still nothing. Not even a glimmer.

Though, judging from the picture, I finally found a way to reach the illusive sixth shade of red on Lassie's face. So that's something.

I really should have tipped that teddy bear.

August 17

So this is what desperate feels like. I always thought it would be more…moist. But, no. This is it. At least, I hope this is it. I mean, it can't get any worse.

August 18

Okay. It got worse.

I went to talk to my dad.

He was helpful, as always. I got the full Henry Medley this time. Two choruses of "You're a lazy ass, Shawn" followed by a striking new rendition of "Pull Yourself up By the Bootstraps, Boy" and even a quick segue into the "You're a Huge Disappointment" finale.

Really, Dad. You shouldn't have pulled out all the stops for me.

Of course, there was pie.

Just not for me.

The pie was for winners.

I did get to look on in envy, though.

Talk about someone who needs a Hug-o-Gram delivery.

August 19

I didn't leave the apartment today.

I didn't even get out of bed.

The phone rang twice. The bell rang once.

What do you wanna bet neither of them was my dad?

August 20

I can't go to Psych.

I can't answer my phone.

I can't even leave my apartment (not that I particularly want to).

I'm officially being stalked.

Okay, I'm being stalked by Gus. But still. It's the principle of the thing. Stalking is stalking, even if it's your best friend.

He's relentless; like a pitbull with an annoyingly expansive vocabulary. I guess Dad called him after our…whatever the hell you call it when your dad eats pie in front of you. "Visit" doesn't quite capture the emotional devastation. "Seventh Circle of Hell" is a bit closer….

Anyway, he's been calling all day. He even stopped by, but I didn't let him in. I didn't even acknowledge him.

Jules came by, too. I didn't let her in, either, but she got closer than Gus. She had something he didn't.

Pizza and Death Wish 4.

August 21

Okay, so I cracked.

I finally let Jules in. I could resist pizza. I could resist Death Wish 4. But today she had Chinese and Messenger of Death. I'm only human!

I have to admit, she actually made me feel a little better about being a complete and utter failure at life.

August 22

Shhh. Jules is sleeping. It's about 3 am, and she's curled up on the couch. So we have to be quiet, Kelly. Okay?

I don't know why she's still here, exactly. Once I let her in, she just refused to leave unless I went with her.

"Shawn, if I walk out that door without you, you'll lock it behind me and never open it again. You'll become some kind of crazy cat man the neighborhood kids tell stories about. I can't let that happen. Your hair is too good for that! Look at it! Body, volume…and you don't even condition!"

I'm not sure what all of that meant…but who said I even wanted her to leave in the first place? Her threat to stay until I left was actually a pretty good incentive to stay put.

But don't tell her that. She thinks she's helping.

She snores, it turns out. Not loudly. It's more like sighing.

It's kind of cute, actually.

God, I'm pathetic.

August 23

I decided to cut Jules a break. She tried so hard.

I even went to see Gus.

He said I look like Hell, which is a coincidence because I feel like Hell.

We're officially unofficially back on the case, for all the good it'll do. Jules let us back into the crime scene. She distracted Lassie with a shiny new pair of handcuffs while we snuck in.

I was still staring at that broken vase.

What the hell is it about that vase?

It seems so straight forward. The Spanenbergs came home, interrupted a burglar, and both got stabbed to death. Over fifty slashes on each body. There were defensive wounds on their hands and arms. There are skin and blood under their nails, but they don't match anything in the DNA database.

What am I missing?

August 24

Umm…Doc? If I went to see you today, and you're the one whose reading this for the insurance people, do I still have to write about it?

I do?

Fine! Then, frankly, I found your bedside manner to be cold and somewhat aloof.

Yes, it's true, Kelly. I went to see the SBPD shrink today. That should tell you how close to the edge I am.

I actually wore a trench coat and dark glasses so no one would see me. Of course, it was 94 degrees…

Do you have any idea what my dad would do if he found out I went to therapy?

Let's just say pie would be out of the picture for…eternity.

Hell, he'd probably put me up for adoption.

Who's going to adopt a 29 year old broken psychic detective?

No. Really. I'm asking. Anyone come to mind?

August 25

One more question, Doc. When you suggest someone comes to see you five times a week, that means they're so emotionally stable that you want to see them as often as possible, right? Sort of like a break from all the real crazies?

God, I hope that's the case.

See you tomorrow.

August 26

I can't believe I've actually seen a shrink three days in a row! My dad would flip.

"Shawn, shrinks are for lowlifes and people with more money than actual problems. What the hell do you have to complain to a shrink about, anyway? Any problem you've ever had has been your own making, Kid."

I went with Groucho glasses and fez as a disguise this time, just in case someone saw me.

The worst part is...I actually feel a bit better about life. And I haven't even gotten to blaming my dad for everything yet! Though I'm sure that's coming soon...

At least, I don't hate myself quite as much. I still can't think for beans…but somehow, I'm starting to be okay with that.

August 27

Ah, Saturday….

Actually, when you don't currently have a job, it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference when it's the weekend.

Jules came by again tonight with some more movies. She thought she was cheering me up, so I didn't want to disappoint her by telling her that I actually feel fine now. For the most part.

Gus came by, too. Fortunately, I disconnected my doorbell, so I could pretend I didn't know he was there.

It was a bit hard to ignore the pounding on the door and the yelling, but I managed.

Jules, God bless her, played right along.

All in all, a good day.

August 28

For the second day in a row, Jules has dropped in unannounced. Today, she decided we should go out for dinner instead of "wasting all night watching stupid movies."

I didn't feel like arguing, so we went.

I paid.

Does that constitute an actual date?

Help me out here, Kelly. You're a woman…what the hell is Jules thinking here?