I haven’t written much over the last few days in my journal or on my story because I was tied up doing other things.

Last Sunday, as well as Saturday, Dan did a little bit of engine-gunning in spurts, and it makes me wonder if I’m in for that every weekend he’s here. I told you things would slowly pick up in noise once we got into the house, although that’s nothing compared to the quietest days in Phoenix.

I went through all the photo albums and scanned the pictures I wanted on the computer. Back when that virus fucked up my computer, I lost those that I had scanned.

Tom said he met up with Dennis at work and that he said he was sorry. It’s too late. He already charged us the outrageous amount he charged us to use a functional but dumpy old trailer that otherwise would’ve just sat in his yard, and he hasn’t changed the amount he wants. So how is he sorry? He still used us and our situation as an opportunity to be a greedy SOB.

Yesterday poor Tom went through a horrid ordeal on the phone with Cigna. Now they’re fucked up, too. Every single business is fucked up. No one is competent in this world. It makes me wonder how we came to have sophisticated things like computers when the world is so stupid.

He called the doctor Cigna assigned to us as our regular doctor but then their office said they weren’t taking new patients. Then Tom called Cigna back who referred him to this number and then to that number. Meanwhile, he was getting nowhere. Finally, after two hours, he got to make an appointment with the doctor after all. Question is - will the incompetent fucks screw up the paperwork on that too, and tell me I was never scheduled for an appointment? I wouldn’t put it past them. The office is in Sun Lakes, so hopefully there won’t be too many wild kids. And hopefully they won’t make me wait an hour, either.

Anyway, it’s sickening what the world’s come to when it comes to doctors. It used to be you called their office, got a live person, and made an appointment. Now, it can be an all-day ordeal just to make a doctor’s appointment. You have to go through a maze of machines and contradictory, stupid people. This is part of why I didn’t continue with the invitro. No one would talk to me. And when they would, it was only to refer me to someone else, then to someone else, while one person would say one thing and another would say something totally different.

Later...

Dan, will you shut the fuck up! I’m getting so sick of him and his engine-gunning. Besides, shouldn’t he be at work in the middle of a weekday afternoon? Or do people who drive tractors only work part-time? And what’s he gonna do now? Gun these fucking engines every day? I never would’ve guessed that Dan would be an annoyance. I’d have guessed on the renters first, next door second.

Tom asked me if I heard the music when he came in. No, I didn’t, fortunately. He said it was soft country music that could’ve been coming from Dan’s, the people past Dan’s, or the renters. Said he couldn’t be sure with the wind. It’s Dan, I thought right away. Then shortly afterward, he started with the engine gunning, so I obviously guessed right. He was home.

Anyway, Tom filed our taxes by phone and is unwinding with the TV now before hitting the sack.

If there were only these two choices, I’d rather work on my story with my music going in the background than vroom, vroom! So I started up a CD and now I’ll go see if I can work on my story.

Later...

Shut uuuuuuup, you mother-fucking cock! Yeah, it just started gunning again. It does this every 2-3 hours and I’m getting pissed here. I’m really getting pissed. I’m supposed to be able to read in peace out here if I want to, but no. This guy’s gotta make a racket with his fucking engines. This is no one-time engine problem he’s been fixing, either. I just know it. This is a regular thing it’ll do whenever it’s home. God, get this fuck out of here to Indiana and let me live in peace! What’s next, huh? What comes after this? Louder music that I can hear in here? Well, maybe it’ll go to work tomorrow and maybe when it comes home it won’t be in the mood to play engine. Maybe it’ll do something else with its time.

Later...

Our little engine-gunner quit pretty much as soon as he started. As I said, he does this in spurts, so it could be worse. He could be doing it for hours non-stop in which case I’d get a gun and shoot the fucker. But are we gonna be in for another spurt at 6:00? We’ll see, but I’d think it’d be a little too windy to be outside. It’s been super windy. You can see dust flying in the wind. There’s almost as much dust as a car kicks up. The wind chimes I have by all three doors are going off and they sound pretty. Actually, I can only hear the back and side door chimes, because the wind is going from back to front. When will it ever rain, though?

Later...

Making good progress with the story. I’m trying not to be predictable. I want the reader to be surprised by all the different curveballs I throw into the story.

Friday or Saturday Paula should get my manila envelope filled with the written pages I tore out of my big blue book to type up with the cover that changes pictures (I couldn’t rebind that cover after I printed out the lime green pages I printed out, so I bound just the pages). That is, only the ones I’d allow her to read. Hope she reads it and doesn’t let all my writing go to waste, but when I look back at the blacks and Mexicans, who obviously didn’t read my mail, you never know. It’s up to her, though. In most cases, I wouldn’t want someone to read something of mine if they didn’t want to. I think she will, though.

It’s funny just thinking of how those personal pages I wouldn’t send her are sitting under someone’s bed at the hotel. I wonder how many years that, and the note I slipped under the stove in Phoenix, will sit undiscovered.

As long as Teresa got my letter OK, I was right about her not contacting me. I hope she did get the letter and has a great life. She was a really nice, helpful, supportive person.

I forgot to mention another thing that happened last weekend that took me by surprise. We had a sales call. I couldn’t believe it. I was like, a sales call? Out here? Some cock came by with a freezer full of meat from a farm. God only knows just how poisonous the meat was, too. I wonder how often these kinds of people will come around. We’ll see, but if I have to, I could always put a sign up and then deal with those who refuse to read it.