Tom and I slept together yesterday and the day before. He went to bed after I was asleep, but when he went to bed today, I was already up. He woke me up yesterday, but I was about ready to get up, anyhow.

The day before yesterday, I woke up a couple of hours too early. I thought a bang of some kind woke me up, but Tom said he didn’t hear anything and that if it was a bang, it may have been a car door across the street cuz he looked and there was nothing going on next door. I don’t know. The freeloader’s door slamming doesn’t wake me up. Maybe it was a dream. I ended up going back to sleep for a couple more hours, though, cuz of my allergies. I had to take a Benadryl which knocked me back out.

At 4:00 today, I could tell the weekend had arrived, cuz our first bass thumper went thumping by. I don’t know if that bitch next door’s gonna have company tonight or not.

You know, I kind of wish she had a car. Then maybe so many people wouldn’t be in and out of here on weekends. Maybe she’d go to them for a change, but I really think there are drugs involved, too, that are coming from her house.

I really like this author Ruby Jean Jensen. In a sense, she’s better than John Saul. The only thing I don’t like is the same thing all authors do, and that is that they spend too much time getting too descriptive. She tells things we don’t need to know in order to know the story.

I’ve got conflicting vibes and info as to when Ma will die. She’ll die when she dies and I know that, but the doctor’s saying something that doesn’t go with my vibes, yet that makes sense. The doctor puts her out of here sometime next summer. I see her going shortly after she turns 77. But the summer makes sense. God would just have to off her as he did with Dad while it was so fucking hot out! There’s nothing like going to a funeral when it’s scorching hot out.

Again I’m upset with Tom for not pulling his weight around here. I mean, yes, he does his best to keep things organized in the back room which I appreciate, and I know he doesn’t always have time, and I know he’s got a lot of aches and pains at his age, and I’m glad he finally started trimming the tree out front after I’ve been trying to get him to do so for weeks, but what’s pissing me off is that he’s getting agitated about my nagging at him to do the shit that’s supposed to be his responsibility in the first place. It’s his job to do the yard work, so what’s the problem?

Although my anger towards Bill is cooling down a bit (that doesn’t mean I don’t hate the guy’s guts and that I still don’t want to kill him) and Doe, Art, and Larry are becoming more and more a thing of the past, I often find myself depressed over things that never happened. What I mean is that I could be sitting here typing as I am now, then suddenly, out of the blue, comes a vision of someone shooting Tom and myself. No, these images aren’t premonitions, but they really bother me. They’re sad, they’re scary, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Sometimes the disturbing images involve faceless, nameless people. Other times it’s Larry. It’s usually either a lot of people or just one person with a gun, and in utter sadness, helplessness, and terror, one of us watches the other slowly get killed off, and it’s so traumatizing to even think about! I try to push these thoughts out of my head as soon as they come.

Later…

I’m frying up chicken wings now. I haven’t done this in a long time. I’m glad I decided to live and let my weight take care of itself. My days of trying to fight the way my body is naturally, are over.

Later…

Blackie’s now finishing the leftover chicken.

The more I think about it, the more I’m glad Lisa won’t be coming out here. Don’t get me wrong, though, cuz I can’t wait for her to come out on either a visit or to live here after she’s out of school, but I don’t really want her living with us for the same reason I don’t want our own kid or another adult rooming with us here. If Lisa lived here and if I were up at 2:00 in the morning wanting to sing, I couldn’t do that with her here. I also couldn’t handle the cutting any more than my mother could. Just because someone’s gone through what someone else is going through, doesn’t mean they can deal with it.

I also know how much God prefers a child to live with an abusive person, so as sick and as senseless as God’s ways are, I have to trust that there is a reason for his creating parents like Tammy. And I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing with Lisa and that he’ll look out for her, even if he didn’t look out for my nephew. As Tom said, bad can be good, cuz it’ll teach her things and make her stronger.

There goes the second stereo of the night and the night is still young. Even when it’s not, they’ll still be banging by.

Great. Just great. I forgot that I’ve got another couple of hours or so before I can have any peace around here so I better keep the fan on. The fucking dogs don’t shut up nowadays till around 9:15, and it’s always the one with the higher-pitched bark. That one barks twice as much as the other one, especially at night.

Let me go see if Joebitch is having her little cronies over tonight.

Nope. Didn’t hear any door slamming, either. That’s OK, cuz she knows she has a whole 3 days to do the company scene.

When’s MLK Day? January or February? Anyway, what did this fucking Martin Luther King do? Get things so that the blacks could go to our schools, use our bathrooms, sit wherever they want on our buses, drink out of our water fountains, then loot the buildings that they didn’t burn down, beat the snot out of innocent people, then cry racism? Way to go Martin.

Later…

I spoke with Andy last night and you know, I’m really fed up with him. I start off by saying, “Don’t get your hopes up” (about Lisa), then he butts in and says, “You’re pregnant?” How many more times do I have to tell him I’m sterile and that there is no way I can conceive? Does he not know that the sterile don’t conceive? Does he know what sterile means? Does he listen to or care to remember a damn thing I say? Or is his memory that shitty? Does he have his mind on himself or on other things when I talk?

Then he said our talks are rare. But we talk once a week. That’s not rare. Although to him, I’m sure it is. If we spoke twice a day that’d be rare for him.

I asked him if he’s serious about going back east in May and he swears he still is dead serious and that he’s going. I hope so cuz nowadays I think he’d be a better long-distance friend. If I were still into the phone and bars, then no, but I’d rather do the bulk of our keeping in touch by mail.

Most importantly, I really hope to hell that he and David work out and that this is what he wants, needs, and has been looking for all these years.

I asked Andy if he was overeating and he stuttered but then denied overeating. I could hear the guilt in his voice, though. So that’s when I suggested he try this mineral pill to help curb his appetite. He said he couldn’t afford it. Then how can he afford to pig out? Is he swiping most of this food from work? See, I think what he’s doing is this - say he’s got the money for two weeks of food. He goes out and buys it, but he eats it in just one week.

Later…

What a surprise. I was in the bathroom waxing my braces when I casually glanced in the mirror and noticed my chin didn’t double up on me with my head lowered. When I’d put my head down, even just slightly, my chin would double over, but it didn’t. It does if I put my head all the way down. It’s in some people’s nature to have more of a sloped neck than others. I’d have to be skin and bones before I’d lose the droopy neck.

It seems I’ve lost about an inch in the thighs and hips, too, but my stomach and tits are a whole different story. I’m so bloated right now. I don’t know what the hell that spot was about that I had several days ago, but I just hope I get my period soon so I can get some of this soreness and bloat off of me. I’d still be pretty big. I mean, I’m naturally 115-118 pounds these days like it or not, unless I suffer by eating just one bite a day, which I refuse to do.

As I said, I’m still gonna walk, and I’m not gonna shove a million calories of pure junk into my mouth each day, but seeing Tom’s got himself cakes and pudding without any guilt or worry encourages me to live a little more. First I was worried about weight, then eating healthy, and so to give myself a break, I stole one of his cakes, although I’m not naturally a junk food junkie to begin with. I like healthy foods more than most do. However, I envy people like Mary who can eat and eat and not give a shit about if the food’s good for them or how fat they are. Don’t get me wrong. Mary’s not huge. She’s about Evie’s height at 5’ 3” and she’s only in the 150s and not the 170s, but Mary’s never had any kids, either. Just a couple of miscarriages. Anyway, I still envy women like that and guys. They don’t give a shit how they look. They just eat whatever they want, whenever they want to. I’m on my way, though. I’m not gonna eat at McDonald’s every day like Mary does, and I wouldn’t be OK with gaining 30 pounds, but so what if I gain 10 pounds? So what if I lose 10 pounds? Get it? I’m just gonna go with the flow within reason, is what I’m saying.

It looks like we’re back to having sex on the weekends again due to things that come up or cuz of our schedules. It’s easier for us that way, I think, and it suits me better now that my appetite’s been low. Actually, once a month would suit me. Or even once every few months. I just have no desire to cum with this guy. I don’t know why, but I’m not really worried about it now. I don’t know if it’ll bother me in the future or not, but the good thing about it is, is that I know it doesn’t bother Tom. He’s happy either way and he’ll always let me be myself. He’d also never complain about my not cumming cuz he wouldn’t want me doing that to him, but trust me, I won’t.

Quitting smoking may not have helped my nose, but at least it killed my baby desires and my constant horniness. Lucky surprise for me, huh?

Here goes the fourth car stereo.