About an hour ago, we arrived here at the Fairfield. Teresa’s on tonight, and she put us in a more secluded room on the 3rd floor and says she’ll look out for us as far as who she puts where. She said all four of those rooms (so that was connected to the guy that came in requesting four rooms. I remember thinking to myself - that’s a lot of fucking kids)! Turned out to be scammers and she wishes she called the cops on them. They rang up their phone bills and stole everything out of the rooms. Yeah, I believe it. And I doubt very much they were retards coming for treatment. Why would they have to come here? They can get treatment anywhere. I think they were a bunch of Mexicans out for hand-me-outs, just like they usually are.

Another thing that annoys me when we stay in hotels is Tom and his goddamn TV. He and TV are like glue, and it’s hard for me to read or write with it going. I’m forced to listen to it too, and you know I hate TV with the same old, same old shit that’s always on. I looked at the HBO guide earlier and I swear that everything listed was the same old shit they’ve been running for the last decade.

Earlier, our kitchen set, stools, and spider lamp were delivered.

As I predicted about a month ago, we’re not getting a well. This fucking driller’s put us on hold and made his false promises long enough. We don’t know yet who’s gonna be filling in the septic, but I’m sure it’s gonna have to be us since no one seems to want to do anything for us. We are getting so fucked over and God’s so oblivious to it all, making me feel like he could care less, and always feeling like I have to pay dearly for all the things I get in life. He’s been totally ignorant of all my pleas for help, so now we’re on our own with no one to help us but ourselves. There’ll be no stairs, either like we were falsely promised.

Tom’s going to call the loan people about readjusting that, then we’ll get water and pressure tanks and begin hauling our own water. Once the tanks are in and inspected, we can fill in the septic, call APS to put a meter box out for us, then finish the stupid, sloppy, lazy Mexican’s jobs for them by fixing what they fucked up or half-assed within the house.

Then maybe, just maybe, God will give us our lives back and leave us alone to live in peace, but I won’t hold my breath. I’ve always believed that as long as God knows Tom’s with me, he’ll always run him ragged and keep him on the go so we don’t have time to do fun things together. And when we do, it’s only once every couple of weeks or so. I strongly feel that as soon as we’re in that house, his mother will become our daughter again and probably end up in the hospital, if not dead. Although, it’s too soon for her to die, from what I vibe. I think she’ll live till around next June-September, but if she’s still alive by then, then she may never die! Not for years yet, anyway. The doctors were obviously wrong in saying she had a terminal blood disease.

Later...

Tom fell asleep after turning off the TV to read for a while I read too, and decided I’d write some more. Perhaps I’ll go begin a letter to Paula.

First, though, I decided that as cute as those borders were, I think they’d be too much and make the place look really circus-like, so I’ve decided that I’ll eventually get a couple of murals that are 9’ tall and 6’ wide. A nighttime city scene for the bedroom and a beach with palm trees scene for my office.

Since there’s a damn good chance I’ll finish this book before we’re in the house, I’ll just get a regular notebook. I don’t have any room on my shelves for any more journals. Wait a minute! I’ve got plenty of room in #77. I was gonna use that up for journal charts back before I knew I was gonna be doing all my journaling on just the computer.

I went downstairs for coffee earlier and ended up chatting with Teresa for a few minutes when she came over to get some juice. She unlocked the orange juice and apple juice machine saying they weren’t supposed to use it (it’s for breakfast), but she was broke and thirsty. She offered me a cup, too.