We decided to check into the Fairfield so we could take showers. It’ll also give me a break from being shaken awake. First he shook me awake, then I woke up just because, and then a fly landed on me and buzzed me awake just before 8:00. I couldn’t have slept much later anyway since the carpet people started their work.

We got here at 11:00 and we were supposed to be on the 2nd floor, the one with the lazy Mexican who doesn’t change sheets (this place has three floors), but the room wasn’t ready, so now we’re back on the 1st. This time, though, instead of being at the end of the hall by the exit door, we’re up in the middle by the lobby. The little laundry room is just across the hall. The laundry room where they wash sheets is across the hall, too. I thought it might be very noisy here. Especially with it being a Friday night, but it hasn’t been too bangy so far. Since it’s the Thanksgiving weekend and not a regular weekend, they may not be as booked up.

The room was really musty when we first came in, but Tom opened the window and we aired it out. I didn’t even know these windows opened.

He went to see his mom since he hasn’t seen her in a couple of weeks.

There was no alarm clock in here. Tom can get me up by 8:30 tomorrow if nothing beats him to it, but I thought it’d be nice to tell time, so I got one at the front desk. Oddly enough, there were no outlets behind the nightstand, so I plugged it in by this table I’m writing on.

I also had to hunt down the maid for a DO NOT DISTURB sign again, but I still like this place the best.

Later...

Tom’s still not back yet. I napped for about an hour, after a shower and doing a little load of laundry.

That musty smell returned, and I noticed the floor by the sink was damp, so I think there’s a leak somewhere. Yeah, I’m a magnet for leaks. We both are. I’m also good at sending out those infertility vibes too, cuz as it turns out, none of these mice were ever pregnant. How amazing too, seeing that they were in a cage with males.

Tom won our bet about it being quiet behind us, although he won by default. No one’s been over there as far as I can tell. Still, I won’t get anything till June. The bet was that I go without any more dolls and stuff like that for six months. I’ll keep my end of the bet, but I wish he’d quit lying and learn to keep his end of things when it came to sex! As you know, I no longer want a kid, but when the guy comes out and says he’s gonna cum regularly, this really burns me up. Not just cuz he’s lied about this before a zillion times, but cuz we don’t even screw regularly to begin with. How can he cum regularly when we don’t screw regularly? Again, part-time, cumless sex is fine 90% of the time, but why bullshit me about it? He is how he is, and like I said before, any guy supposedly unafraid to go to a doctor about it but doesn’t wants to be the way he is.

Later...

Tom got in shortly after I last wrote. With him were a birthday card and a check from Mom. It was a very pretty card, too. Bright and colorful.

The people next door are getting on my nerves and believe it or not, these aren’t kids either. They’re just as rude and immature, though. Totally childish, and fucking males! The filthy pigs always have to go about things in such a forceful, macho way. Maybe I shouldn’t talk, for I’m just as aggressive, but I guess that except for my husband (or else I’d be alone forever or having little flings with women), I’ll always be a die-hard sexist.

I was reading and Tom was napping when a cock, accompanied by his woman, knocked so fucking hard and loud on next door’s door. Poor Tom nearly fell out of bed and I myself nearly jumped through the ceiling. I thought for sure someone was knocking on our door, but it was next door. If he’d done it again I’d have really let him have it. Meanwhile, it appears to be an older couple staying in the room. I guess they recently checked in. I saw the old lady go across to the washer, and she’d gone back and forth slamming the door several times when I decided to take the matter up with the front desk. Unless he just said he talked to them, which very well could be the case, it’s had its usual effect - nothing. However, I don’t chew out or beat up old people in the way that I would with a younger person. Because it’s still early and because we don’t live here and because she’s old, I’ll let her annoy me by rudely slamming her door. If she isn’t finished with the laundry and the door-slamming by 10:00, then I’ll go directly to her, old or not. I could kick myself for going to the front desk, though. Why do I even bother? Why do I waste my time? Again, you got a problem with someone, you want results, you gotta go to them. Also, I still can’t figure out for the life of me why people can’t handle such simple, reasonable complaints without getting so damn hot and bothered. It’s just a door-slamming complaint. I’m not saying their family has to die nor am I requesting their execution. Everyone’s so damn sensitive. So you close your door a little quieter next time you go in and out - big fucking deal. What’s wrong with a little common courtesy?

Instead of complaining, I should’ve yanked all her clothes out of the washer when she went back into her room, but that probably would’ve led to more commotion from over there.