Well, no wonder they’ve been behaving next door with the exception of a little music on occasion. They were hoping to go to court with me and yes, they do suspect I threw the bottle, cuz they are trying to “have me served.” The first thing that went through my mind was that someone had to have seen me (but God only knows how), or that they were just so desperate to pin it on me anyway. Tom says you can tell in which direction a bottle was thrown by the way it scatters. Yeah, I thought about that, but I didn’t think the sick fucks would have brains enough to figure that one out. I think it was the cops who did, in which case I should’ve known better and shouldn’t have thrown the bottle. And of course, God just won’t let me get away with shit. I have no pity, guilt, remorse, or feelings of concern for these sick fucks whatsoever, but I am ashamed of myself for letting my husband down. This is one hell of a husband I’ve got who still loves me, and who says we’ll deal with whatever happens together when he could’ve turned his back on me. It is for him that I feel the shame, the guilt, and the remorse. As for the freeloaders, they fucked with me. I fucked back. Tom says “getting even” should mean that we do our best to better our lives, etc. Well, that goes without saying, but I meant it when I said that I give what I get. Tom says I just have to accept the fact that the world isn’t fair and that some people are gonna get away with things while others can’t. We agreed not to open the door to anyone, but we’re not gonna change our lives by hiding or making up stories. Like he said, if we get served, we get served. If we must go to court, we will. Meanwhile, we agreed I’d deny knowing a thing about it, but again, no stories. If they ask if there have been any problems with these people, I’ll tell them about the music. As Tom pointed out, due to the fact that I’m not alone with nothing, I couldn’t get a free lawyer, but if it came to court, I’m not gonna pay a lawyer to defend me over a thrown bottle. I’d just represent myself if it came to court.

I don’t know if they know yet that I haven’t been served, but there’s been a lot of door-slamming. Again, I don’t care if these people dropped dead and they can be happy, sad, rich or poor, but I guess I realized too late that the bottle was a bad idea. There were other things I could’ve done. Now I have to worry all the more, especially if I dodge court, that there’ll be more music problems and that they may even fuck with this house. Tom says that we’ll just have to live with whatever they do, but no way. I may have to pay for every little thing I do, but that doesn’t mean that they’re gonna get away with fucking with me. They can’t prove I threw that bottle. All they can do is suspect, but I disagree about us not being able to do anything if the letter we sent has a part in the music toning down. Even if it doesn’t, they still live in a house owned by the city and that’s a great advantage to us. Tom says maybe it’ll blow over, but that seems to be one stubborn bitch over there, so we’ll see. I asked God to please take it out on me. Meaning that Tom’s the one who works and whose name the house is in, so he could be the one to have to pay for this. In my little chat with God last night, I told him that if I must pay for what I’ve done, OK, but please let it be me to pay for it. I was the one who threw the bottle. Not Tom. I told him I didn’t want to go to court and have to have Tom pay for my actions, so please punish me. You know, 20 more pounds, continuing sterility, etc. Andy never had to go to court about the calls he made a few years ago to this customer and a detective said he’d have to, but he’s Andy. And God does favor Andy a bit more over me, even if there are others he loves even more than Andy. I’ve seen Andy get away with things I could only dream of getting away with. Scott never had to pay for his stealing his VCRs and I’d think that theft would be more serious than vandalism. Scott knew Andy was gonna have him served, so he didn’t answer his door, and they never went to court and Andy never saw his VCRs again. Again, though, that’s Scott and Andy. Not me. God’s standards for me are different.

Anyway, the court server left a card that said, “Jody, give me a call.”

Couldn’t even spell my name right. This card was face down on the ground, too, not taped to the door or in the mailbox slot. He came knocking again yesterday too, so who knows how many times he’ll keep trying?