Last night I didn’t fall asleep till 10:00. I woke up at 6:30. Tom woke up shortly after.

It’s raining out now for the first time in quite a while. This is good, as it’ll settle any pollen and continue to make allergy plants go dormant.

I hope and pray to hell that I finally get my packages and envelopes today.

Right now I’m gonna go and get myself a cup of tea. After I drink it, I’ll finish copying a page from each journal in #49.

Later...

I finally got my hair trimmed today. Tom did, too. She didn’t do as good of a job as Richard did but did good enough. She didn’t get scissor-happy. It’s been trimmed another 2” but is still below my waist. In less than a month it’ll be to the crack of my ass. I feel she could’ve done a better job with my bangs, although it’s still a bit too soon to tell. At least it’s no longer in my face.

Yes, she’s pretty like Andy said. I’d rate her a 7½ - 8, but her body wasn’t great. Her face was kind of broken out, but pretty. Her hair was permed and almost to the middle of her back.

I had forgotten that there was to be no mail today due to it being Veteran’s Day. Oh well, if I don’t get my package tomorrow, then I give up.

Today it rained and was chilly and windy. First rain in quite some time.

I’ve only had 13 cigarettes in the 15 hours I’ve been up. That’s better, but earlier I didn’t feel too great. My chest was tight.

Well, I’m gonna try to conk out now, but if I can’t sleep, I’ll write some more. Before going to bed, I better go check my messages. I do believe I heard the phone ringing. It’s probably either Andy or Fran. Fran left a message last night.

Later...

Nope. That call wasn’t from Andy or Fran. It was from Wendy. Now Tom’s got two messages. One from Eileen, a coworker with a gay daughter, and Wendy, who took her dog to the vet.

I came back to write something else I had just remembered, but now I forgot what the fuck it was.

I keep telling myself to call Mary, but keep forgetting that, too. She had to have lost my number as she certainly would’ve called by now.

God only knows what’s going on with Kara. I have no way of contacting her and she’s got no way of contacting me. Not by phone, that is. I could maybe write to her at her old address at the Via El Camino apartments and it’ll get forwarded to wherever the hell she is now. She could be in Michigan. I remember her mentioning wanting to return there. Will she ever become a cop? I hope so. That’d be totally for her.

Every now and then I still have fantasies about Stacey. I don’t know what it is with that sick bitch. She reminds me of Kate Jackson even though she has light eyes and hair. Did she really ever have a thing for me? I’ll never know for sure, but yes, I believe she did, despite the fact that she shit on everyone. I can’t picture her ever shitting on Rosemarie, Donna, and Tara and Tonya, though. She most certainly never has or will shit on that damn butch. At least I know that everyone I wrote to did receive all my mail. Even Rosemarie. It’s amazing how much legwork both Stacey and Andy put into trying to nail me in court. They were so sure they were going to, too. I’ll bet they’re still pissed that they lost. I’m sure they lied about losing, too. Stacey’s not the type to walk back into the office and admit she lost. Too humiliating for a person like her. Despite that letter I sent her boss, she’s still working there. I knew she would, as like with cops and staff members in funny farms, they protect their own. I have no regrets about writing it, though. I hope she at least got to read it.

I spoke to Tammy a few days ago. She asked me if I’ve talked to Dad.

Fuck no!

She says she’ll mention my guitar. Like it’ll do any good. She hasn’t heard any more about the bastard, but I hope they all killed each other. All 3 of them are good for nothing.