I know, I know, it's hard to get inside my head. I keep the world at bay, at an elegant distance, and I like it that way. At 52, don't ask me to change now. Even though I published a memoir in my 30s. Reader, the truth is that I am pretty much a closed book.

The Oval has its moments, a gold rug and all, but entre nous, I can't wait to get out of here. It amazes me how little power a president has over the course of human events.

I didn't sign up for all the stuff happening now. Really, Iraq? I have to slay the same dragon all over again? I'm a man of peace; remember, I won the Nobel Peace Prize? Strange things happening as I watch the second term sink into the sod. Ironic that war is studying me some more.

And the Dickensian Cheney shows up with Charlie Rose. That makes me vexed with Charlie. But you'll never see me mad or break my stride.

Let's be real, Americans don't know the difference between Sunnis and Shiites, and now ISIS. Watching the World Cup — the United States vs. Germany — that's getting involved in the world community, win, lose or tie. That's the spirit I like to see. Nobody gets hurt. We need to engage in diverse places like Rio and show another side of our nation to the world.

Meanwhile, the press can't let it chill. Their eyes light up like fireflies at a foreign policy crisis. They can't sit still until I figure out what to do about Iraq, which I'd checked off the to-do list, you know, like Monday washing. That's how my grandmother Toot did it.

First, let's call George W. Bush on his ranch. Hey, sorry to interrupt the artist at work, but is this what you and Dick had in mind? Anarchy, violence and jailbreaks? Thanks much. Swell. Wish you were here, man. You have no idea.

Lately, I've come to like Ike, who had Kansas roots, too, like my practical Toot. Wish Eisenhower were here now to talk to, you know, like President Kennedy turned to the old soldier and five-star general after the Bay of Pigs disaster in Cuba. Ike and I could do our favorite thing together — golf over some fatherly advice. He could be the father I'm dreaming of!

Let me share some burdens of office. When you're as cool as I am — come on, who's cooler? — summer should not be so hot, breathing down my back so soon in June. And something tells me the fall might be even worse. They say we could lose the Senate. Imagine. Just when I figured out that Mitch McConnell, the Republican leader, really meant he wanted me to fail as a one-term president. It took time and talk therapy to understand that I have political enemies I can't charm.

The House is a circus missing a mean clown after Eric Cantor's fall. But the Senate is like the theater of democracy. The last bastion on the Hill can't change hands. What will that mean for me and my place in history?

Operator, find my friends in the Senate? Harry, who needs my help? Let me campaign with you folks down there in Arkansas, West Virginia, North Carolina. New Orleans. I'll be there in a heartbeat on Air Force One. No, we won't tip the wings.

Silence. Click.

They don't want me campaigning. I remind voters of Obamacare. It's only my presidency's signature bill. Obamacare is the saddest story you'll ever read about my time here. And I'm the hero or the fool. Iraq, I inherited. Obamacare was political capital — which we never got to spend.

I need to get up on a horse in the hot summer months and ride to a cool summer cottage to live. There's President Lincoln up there. That's what he did every night — for his mental peace during the Civil War. But I can't compare myself anymore — as I used to, with audacity.

So, dear Oval, I'm counting the days, a little sore at the course of events. I'll miss the Truman Balcony. Hillary can have the rest.

To find out more about Jamie Stiehm, and read features by other Creators writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.