I still set my alarm for 7:30 even though our house isn’t for sale after all. I had to if I want to make my Monday appointment. Of course, there’s still the chance that they won’t make it, but so far, no call’s come to play the rescheduling game.

Tom mowed yesterday and went up into the attic for what was hopefully the last time to bring down bowls, towels, and old bomb cans.

The Ranchero took the night off from visiting yesterday. I doubt the red car, which came and went a few more times that I know of, stayed overnight, but the furniture truck did. So that’s gonna live there now, too?

God, I hate the unpredictability when it comes to next door! They follow some type of pattern or routine for a few days, then it’s anything goes. Anything can happen, any time of day over there. You never know what vehicles you’re going to see and when. You never know what you’re going to hear and when. Although I would think it was unlikely at this hour, the Ranchero, or a car I’ve never seen before, could come blasting in really loud right now. For a while there, it had gone pretty dormant traffic-wise during the daytime, but yesterday was just like the weekend or the evenings usually are. So many cars came and went.

I hope Tom won’t wait till tomorrow and that he’ll call today and find out why our house isn’t for sale when it’s supposed to be.

Later...

I hope that when we move, our AC will be more temperature-sensitive. This AC needs to be turned up as it gets hotter and turned down as it gets cooler. I hope that as the sun comes up in the new place, the thing will run more often on its own, and less often as the sun sets.

Tom just called. He’s planning on stopping at someplace to get a part for the broken car AC, then when he gets home, he’s gonna look online to see if the house is listed. He said he’ll call them today if it’s not. He thinks it is, though, and that it takes time for things to get rolling, even though we don’t have a sign, and that the weekend is gonna be when there are more people out house-hunting.

Well, I finished the prologue and the first chapter of my story. It’s definitely going to take about a year to complete this story if I can at all. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I just feel it’s destined. I’m supposed to be doing this. Yet it makes no sense. Why would God let me be an author? I’m not destined to be rich, famous, or successful. As I learned, just because I was attracted to women didn’t mean God wanted me to be with one. And just because I had a fairly decent voice didn’t mean God wanted me to be a singer. And just because I was with a man didn’t mean he wanted me to have a kid. He hasn’t let me do the things I chose to do that weren’t material in the past, so why should he start now? Well, nonetheless, I’m just gonna go with the flow of whatever’s fated to be. That’s all any of us can do. I’m gonna try to write this story, and if I like how it comes out, I’m going to try to get it published. That’s all for now. I’m actually kind of enjoying writing this story as slow as it’s progressing. Tom says that’s normal, though, and that he’ll help me get it out there. If I finish the story to get out there in the first place, which I don’t expect to do in this house for two reasons. Because there are more distractions here, and because I shouldn’t have time to finish it here if someone would just get the fuck out to the house to check it out and buy it!

Later...

It’s listed! It’s listed! A Betty with Southwest Properties just called wanting to show the house between 1:00 and 2:00. No problem!

Later...

Fucking Goddamn liar! Our first call was a no-show. Tom said to expect that. Makes sense. If they can bullshit you with false promises of seeing you or calling you in bars and other places, why not do it in real estate? Of course, there’s always the chance that they drove by and didn’t like what they saw, so they didn’t bother to come in. I suppose that the no-shows will be more often than not.

The freeloaders are hanging out laundry on their back block wall. What’s wrong with their clothesline? Too many people for that little line, huh?

Today’s been like it usually is during the daytime these days; not a car in sight.

We went online and saw our house listed there. It’s the cheapest one in this area with a pool.

Tom said we should be getting the lockbox. A box with a key to this house in it that the Realtor uses when we’re not home. I doubt no one will be home, though, when and if someone finally comes to see the house.

Also, he said it’s common for them not to put up signs right away. They’ll do it when it’s an efficient time, he says. He says it’s not the Realtor doing it, but someone who works at it part-time to make extra money.

Later...

Well, the realtor did make it over here after all. She came with her fem client after 3:00. He never said a word about the house. Tom said that’s common, though, for them not to say anything to the owners. They wait till they’re alone with the Realtors before they talk.

I agree with Tom - most gay guys aren’t very handy unless they have a more masculine boyfriend. If you ask me, this is a total bachelor’s house. It’s too small for kids, and I’d think most women wouldn’t like the looks of it, but guys are less picky about things like that.

Right after they left, and I mean right after, the fucking cock in the Ranchero came in, bass hammering. In the driveway too, the motherfucking cock! It was so close to the realtor, and oh God, did I want to let them have it! Aaarrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhh!!!!!!! I HATE welfare bums!!!!!!!!!!!! I fucking hate them, man I’ll tell you! 

I’m just so afraid they’re gonna ruin it for us. Stay out of our way, you fucking scum-sucking freeloaders! Tom says that if a realtor can’t sell a place cuz of their shit, they’ll complain, and since the mayor’s up for re-election, the last thing he needs is realtors complaining. This will force the city to do something like maybe buy this house (so only the same scum that does the same thing ends up here). 

I disagree. I think there are enough other houses for realtors to make money off of, and I think the mayor could care less. As for the city, they won’t do shit. They’ve totally given up on next door.

I do agree with him, though, when he says he thinks it’s a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. The cock that’s been coming in the Ranchero almost every day has something to do with Deb’s not being there. I think that the cock’s girlfriend, who’s probably Chester’s or Deb’s sister or cousin, has been staying there to help out with the kids and that that’s who the cock’s been coming to see. Yeah, well one way or the other, I’m gonna make sure they get theirs when I leave here. I’m not finished with them and I’m not gonna just walk away like a little wimp. I’ll be back, freeloaders! I’m gonna torture the fuck out of these little shits! I’ll scatter popcorn all over their yard to not only make a mess but to attract ants, I’ll throw nails all over the driveway to puncture their tires, whatever!

I have the headphones on now, but according to Tom, the Ranchero blasted in again. If it’s blasted in twice a day during the week, imagine how it’ll be during the weekend! The weekend’s when we’re gonna have more people here and this isn’t gonna look good. They’re gonna totally get in the way and ruin it for us, and I totally disagree with Tom when he says there’s something we can do about it. There’s nothing we can do about it. Nothing at all! I’m gonna end up killing these people before we get out of here, and I’m telling you, that’s the only way. The only way to shut people up and take care of a problem is to do it yourself. The system is too fucked up to be of any help.

Tom goes on and on about how he appreciates my control, but it can’t last forever. How far do you think you can push someone before they snap? They can only put so much pressure on me, and I’m telling you, they’re gonna get themselves killed. If not by me, then by someone. Whoever does the deed, though, will be doing the world a lotta good.