If Tom’s right, and if he’s not getting his hopes up for nothing, this will be the last night we sleep in the trailer. If gunshots don’t wake me up sooner than I’d like, then he will, but it’s OK.

The fucking idiots sent the well permit to our old address so that’s part of the reason for the delay. According to the way Tom’s figured things out between the well driller and APS, we should be in the house Wednesday.

The skirting is now on and it really makes the house look better.

Also, the carpet’s down. It’s darker than I thought; sort of like faded denim, but it’s better than brown. I like it.

I found yet more problems, and I’m telling you - there’s no fucking excuse for this! Those fucking goddamn lazy, half-assed Mexicans!

They installed the things for the outdoor lights crookedly, and the utility door handle does not fit right. There’s a large gap in the door.

We went over to the house after the girl and guy who did the carpet left, and we discussed clean-up and preparation jobs, as well as did a little work over there. When we can, I’m gonna sweep the floors and vacuum and he’s gonna wipe down the walls and counters of all their dust.

Today we set up the fridge, oven, and dishwasher, and peeled stickers off of things in the bathrooms. I also took down the curtains I plan to replace.

Anyway, I hope Tom’s not jumping the gun, cuz he’s got a room reserved for us for three nights at the Fairfield. Being there on a Friday night/Saturday morning was just as bad as I figured it’d be. I should’ve known too, that just because it started off quiet, it wouldn’t stay that way. Not once it got well past check-in time. They ended up pretty packed and the early morning door-slamming was pretty wild. I’m amazed they let me sleep till 8:30 like I did. Shortly afterward, we screwed.

There was nothing to say he wouldn’t or couldn’t cum, based on his actions, but then like usual, he had an excuse. A cramp in his back was the excuse of choice this time. Fine, but why make excuses, Tom? Just be yourself.