Tom told me earlier that he knew this was going to make me mad since I get mad when people win things and we don’t, but Dave won a big-screen TV from a drawing they had at work. I’m not mad. I’d be mad if they won a gorgeous doll they didn’t give a shit about that I wanted, but anyway, he and I aren’t destined to win anything big. Also, if he thought it’d make me mad, why’d he tell me? Would he find it amusing to see me mad or jealous? I’ve often wondered about this.

I saw Melanie yesterday and the doctor, too. I asked the doctor how much longer on the braces. As usual, he started off being vague about it, but after a few minutes, he finally answered the goddamn question. He said it’d take 10 months to really get things lined up perfectly, but only two months to tie up loose ends on the things we set out to do that I’ve already pretty much accomplished. So, they’re coming off in 12 weeks! On August 23rd. In 4 weeks I go back for the usual check-up, then again 4 weeks after that, then I get the braces off in another 4 weeks.

Melanie says she doesn’t like her retainer. You don’t have uncomfortable knobs sticking out that you have to wax, but you feel like you’ve got a wad of gum stuck to the roof of your mouth and under your tongue, and you talk funny. So, it sounds like I’ll be swapping in one misery for another. I’ll have to have the retainer for two years. All the time during the first year, then just at night.

I told Melanie how I was bummed she wasn’t around the last time I was in, cuz of the T-shirt I made for her to see. She said I could’ve come and gotten her, but I didn’t want to bother her. She said she liked my “cute little dress” and could notice the weight I’d lost. She told me she goes to the gym after work.

When I got home I printed out a rat picture, a couple of mice pictures, and a few different pictures of myself. One from when I was really skinny and one with my hair just past the shoulders when I was 24. I’ll give this to her the next time I see her.

My hair’s now to the middle of my ass when you don’t pull the curl out, and to the tops of my legs when you do pull it out.

Later...

I wonder how Tom’s back is? Good, I hope, but no matter what happens from here on out, I’ve already resigned myself to accepting and believing that we’ll be here till the fall. Maybe even as late as the end of the year.

I’m enjoying my time off from Andy’s calls, not that he’s been pummeling me with a lot of calls lately, but still, it’s always nice not to hear from him these days. I’m not looking forward to his return, that’s for sure. Cuz then I’ll have to sit on the phone for two fucking hours while he repeats the same old shit over and over again, talking in annoying slow, broken, intermittent-like sentences. I’m sure 80% of what he’ll have to say will be all about food and God. And then because he’ll be baked, he’ll call the next day and the next and leave a million messages about what he spent those two hours telling me about, cuz he can’t fucking remember that he already told me about it! Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! And who knows how much the little pig will be stuffing his face when we talk. Sometimes I wonder, though, if he conveniently forgets things just to have an excuse to call and tell me something on the machine. God only knows he has no life and not much new ever going on. So, when you have nothing new to tell, you usually go back over old shit.

I hate Andy, man, I’ll tell ya! Well, I don’t hate him, but I’m really sick of him!

I got a kick out of how he said he felt the same way after I told him I felt superior to others. How can a loser like that feel superior? He can’t hold a job. He’s a druggie. He’s loveless. He has immature druggies as friends. His life is exactly as it was a decade ago. He just lives in Phoenix, that’s all. He’s got these grand delusions about God and is totally clueless as to the fact that if his “friend” were really all that wonderful, the world would be a much better place. He wouldn’t always be in such a stagnant rut. Maybe he’d have love, a job he could hold, and a body and brain free of smokes and pot.

I decided to use a similar tactic on Andy as I did on Larry, Doe, and Art’s stuff. Just like I fibbed and told Larry, Doe, and Art that I sent copies to people they know, hoping this would up the chances that they read what I wrote (out of curiosity as to what these people will be reading about them), I put a note on the first page of Andy’s shit that the sentences with the letters fam in them were also shared with his family. See, a druggie has no ambition to do anything but sit on their ass. He never read that journal I wrote for his birthday a few years back. This is different, though, with different circumstances surrounding it, so hopefully, the lazy thing will be curious to read it. Maybe if I pray to Andy’s “friend” and ask that he make sure he reads what I have for him to read, he will, but I certainly won’t count on it, although as Andy claims, God always comes through for him. Yeah, right! Is that why we’ve got a kid? I’m glad we don’t, mind you, but I know he’s prayed for us for that and I know he’s told me that God always comes through for him. Oh yeah? Then why’s he still alone? And I wouldn’t doubt that he’s also prayed for help on quitting the drugs and the ciggies. Maybe for a little stability, ambition, and motivation, too. What a dreamer. A total dreamer. It’s scary when someone can’t separate fantasy from reality.