Tom bought a heavy-duty stapler today but it was broken, so he’ll have to bring it back. He got staples in four different sizes, although they come in six sizes. You can staple up to 250 sheets. He also picked up some more ink cartridges. I’ve been on a major printing spree what with getting these journals printed out. I have 1170 more pages to go of journal stuff and that’s not counting what I’ve written so far for this month.

His little computer is really neat. You can lay in bed in the dark and use it cuz the screen lights up to a pretty blue/green shade, the color of pool water lit up at night. It has a tiles game. Its colors are bland, but it’s still neat to just tap the tiles with the stylus. It’d be perfect for long boring car rides to Vegas, Laughlin, California, or wherever.

To our knowledge, no one came next door today (now yesterday). Not even the city. I asked Tom what’s his guess now, as to when someone will move in. He said he’d guess every weekend. Me too, but the longer it stays empty, the better. Every weekend it stays empty is just one less weekend I have to deal with someone’s rude, selfish shit just three feet away from me. It’s no wonder I didn’t have a bad vibe and a vibe of waking up last weekend. Cuz no one moved in after all. I guess that as we approach each weekend, I’ll be able to get a sense of whether or not someone will be moving in. So far, I seem to be in tune as far as that goes.

Mickey Rat may have a tumor in his balls. His balls are ten times bigger than the other rats, as even Tom noticed. He said he thought the tumor might be in his stomach, pushing his balls out. I don’t know if it’s his stomach, his balls, or nothing at all. Time will tell, but God’s really damned mice and rats, that’s for sure! They’re notorious for tumors, alright.

We had sex earlier which couldn’t have been any more predictable than it was. It was sooo obvious, although like always, he tried to deny his reasons for his moves. He not only didn’t cum, he wouldn’t even get on top. He was that scared, but hey, it’s OK. Perfectly understandable, and I’d probably do the same myself if I were him despite the odds of my conceiving. We’re in the middle of trying to move, after all. We don’t need another expense and time-eater.

Anyway, the cumless weekly sex is fine, but I wish he’d be less sexually selfish. All he’s ever really cared about in bed is doing what he’s wanted. He decides when we have sex and how often (even though we sort of have a mutual agreement. A pattern/habit we’ve fallen into with time). He decides when he cums. He decides the positions. I wish he didn’t have so much control in bed, but a man always has more control over the bedroom activities. We women just don’t have the tools to be in command of the sex. So, he’s typical in that way. He dominates the sex, only in an unusual kind of way. Definitely not in the way most males do. Nonetheless, he never offers to go down on me. His “variety,” is not going on top sometimes cuz he’s either too afraid to, can’t get in the mood, or whatever. It’d be nice if he’d please me every now and then. Only in the beginning was the sex just for me, but then again, it wasn’t. If it can’t be mutual, OK, but we should share the pleasure, if you know what I mean. I made this suggestion to him, but I won’t count on his taking it up. Perhaps he will once or twice, but then he’ll just fall right back into his usual ways. I don’t know if he’s being stubborn deliberately, or if he really has such a hard time adapting to new ideas in bed, but we’ll see. I guess most of us find a way that works best for us and stick to it.

Got 1121 more pages to print out. I combined all the journal files into one file for printing. I have to print out from late 1995 on up till last June. Then carry on with printing out each month I type. Guess you could say I’m off to a slow start this month. It’s already the 11th, yet I haven’t even typed ten pages yet. Usually, around the 11th, I’m around the twenty-page marker.

I was gonna get into shit about Andy and his “family lecture” but I’ll save it for another time. I’ve been up a while and I want to unwind with a movie.

Later...

Today Tom brought home a T-shirt squashed into a circle of about 5” in diameter. I don’t know where he got this. I’ll have to ask him when I get him up at 11:00. He was already asleep when I got up at 4:00.

He also brought home sample paint shades. About a dozen whites, yellows, and blues. We’re going to paint the outside the same light blue, but hopefully, we can just paint the bad spots and avoid having to paint the whole house. We’re gonna paint the trim white. Right now it’s also light blue. We’ll be painting the inside walls white. A brighter white than the off-white that’s been on these walls. We’ll be painting the kitchen cabinets a yellow-gold to go with the disgusting floor in there.

Lastly, he got a heavy-duty stapler that works and it’s great. It still jammed up on me a few times like my regular one did, but it’s much better since I can staple so many more pages. It took just 9 staples to staple together my first 100 journals. I’ll be able to get all of Andy’s shit stapled with one staple, and I rearranged the bitch’s shit, too. Originally, she was gonna receive two envelopes from me, but I managed to fit everything into one envelope. I tore out the wire binders and it’s now packed beautifully with just two staples. The bitch has roughly 160 pages, 80 sheets of paper. I stapled 40 and 40, so she’ll get two little bundles of paper. That way she can have fun sharing. Her cock can read one while she reads the other. I set it up so that the first thing she sees when she pulls the packet out will be the pictures I shot of the city car and of her cock’s car. I wrote my “table of contents” on the back of the envelope to help up her curiosity.

Again, as far as I know, no one showed up next door today.

Got 996 pages left to print.

As far as Andy’s concerned - same old, same old. He left messages about eating, being excited about going back east, and weed sales. Then, in response to my asking him to please not bother contacting Tammy, he said he wasn’t planning on it anyway (yeah, well we’ll see if that changes). Then he lectured me about cutting off my nieces just because of my problems with Tammy. Although I’ve cut off everyone with the last names G and O cuz I felt that that was for the best, I told him differently (that I didn’t dump my nieces) just to shut him up and get him off my case. Anyway, he has no right to judge me and my situation because he’s not in my shoes. If he had been in my shoes and could feel how I do, then maybe he’d understand why I not only had to cut out Tammy but her kids, too. The connection was just too damn close for comfort.

Anyway, I’m sick of Andy trying to make me into himself. Just because he’d go against Marla’s wishes and be his usual selfish self doing only what he wants if she told him to stay away from the boys, well, that’s him. Not me. The best way for him to handle a certain situation isn’t necessarily the best way for others but he just doesn’t get it. He puts everyone on his level, but that’s just not reality. He’s him. I’m me. I’m tired of my “friend” siding with others and arguing and challenging my ways. I’m sick of him trying to push his ways on me. I don’t try to talk him out of his ways of doing things. I may tell him, for example, that I don’t agree with his being a drug dealer, but I never tried to talk him out of it. It’s his fucking life. Why can’t I get the same respect in return? I expect others to treat me as I treat them.

He said he should bring his friend God into his lecture, but he wouldn’t. 

What “friend?” You mean the “friend” that’s denied him love? The “friend” that’s helped to keep him in the same old loser of a rut year after year? That’s some friend, Andy. I could type 1000 pages on why God’s some “friend,” but I have better things to do with my time.

I’m sick of Andy! Oh, I’m fucking sick of him! Sooooooooo motherfucking sick of him! I’m tired of hearing the same old shit message after message, phone call after phone call. Fuck his fucking God, and his fucking food, and his fucking drugs, and his fucking phones, and his fucking Stevie. I’m fed up! I can’t fucking wait to move and get on with my life without his usual BS I’ve dealt with for what? 11 years now?

Boy, it sure felt good to bitch in here!