It’s a good thing I didn’t go to bed at my usual time last night, cuz I’d have been woken up at 1:00. It thundered for about an hour or so and rained off and on. It was the usual kind of storm we get. The lightning was incredible. We had both bolts of lightning, as well as heat lightning coming from a zillion different directions. It was like a strobe light out there, flickering constantly.

Since being up at 1:00 this afternoon, the clouds have been coming and going and it rained for a few minutes.

Later...

Tom should be home anytime now. I can’t wait to hear how the doctor’s appointment went. I just hope it’s nothing major and that he won’t have so many aches and pains for a change, and won’t be so tired. He’s 43, not 75. And I don’t give a shit if he lied about the sex, cuz I don’t care what he does in bed anymore, and I haven’t been into having sex with him in ages. Nor do I care for a child, naturally or not naturally. I just want to live in peace, that’s all. I don’t want to deal with money problems, health problems, people problems, etc., and the last thing we need is a child to make life harder than it already is.

Speaking of money, Tom says he may look into a program that lets you borrow against your pension in order to get current. He said it’s a one-time loan and he doesn’t know how much he could get. Not a huge amount, though.

I really thought today was gonna be the day I’d hit down at 117 pounds, but nope. I was 118½. I was surprised I didn’t wake up at 117, seeing how little I ate yesterday and how long I was up last night and how late I slept today, but I just don’t lose weight easily at all. In my 20s, I’d have certainly woken up 2-3 pounds lighter. At least I’ve been shitting more regularly since I switched potatoes. I guess that because we’re supposed to have a little extra weight when we’re over 30, my body thinks it’s starving when it diets, and therefore, it tries to hang onto everything it gets like a body would that is being starved.

I’ve been working out for 3 months now. I think this is the longest I’ve ever worked out consistently. Tom says it’s obvious I’m going down, just slowly. I feel like I’ve changed since I started working out, and at the same time, I feel like the same old blimp. I may have lost an inch or so in the tits and thighs, but what about my hips, waist, face and neck? I look in the mirror and I see straighter, thinner arms, but the same gigantic face stares back at me with its sagging neck.

My sudden willpower is like – wow! For the longest time, I could never have stuck to this diet as much as I have been lately, and the time I lost my willpower, it was only for a few days.

The pictures to Doe and Art finally went out today. All that just to send pictures! It took me 6 months of working at it and trying really hard to get the damn thing mailed! Well, at least I know I’ll never mail anyone back east anything ever again. I’m 100% completely done with them, but I wonder – will all these nasty letters, something I haven’t quite done yet since I was only bluffing the last time, be the thing to finally push them into trying to contact me to let me have it and to beg me not to send anything more? Somehow, some way, I’m sure they have our address, even if they didn’t get it from Mary or Mom. Everyone always knows my business (although they still have another few months to send mail to the old address that’d still get to us). People in Springfield knew when I got in trouble 40 minutes away in Deerfield, and although it was in the Greenfield paper, I’m almost positive it wasn’t in the Springfield paper. Back in ’93, Larry said he knew about that, that bitch that worked in Carabetta’s office which I wish I handled differently along with Stacey, mentioned it too, when I prank-called her. “I heard she got in a lot of trouble,” she said. So, I’m 99% sure, not that I give a shit, that Doe, Art, Tammy and Larry know about my being dragged into the police station on account of the freeloaders' bullshit last January. They may know this address or the PO address, but anything I get will get returned. If I recognize Doe or Art’s handwriting or get something with no return that I normally shouldn’t be getting, I’ll just mark it return to sender without opening it. The last thing I’ll give them is the satisfaction of hearing what they have to say. I just hope they don’t bother poor Mom, Mary and Dave on how to reach me. I told them not to give out any info and I told Doe and Art that they’d be shut out if they called, too. I think I even lied to them and told them that Mom moved in with someone else cuz her daughter acquired health problems. There’s a grain of truth to that, too. Mary, along with Ray, is also having health problems. Ray’s heart isn’t good, and I know he’s had a lot of other problems for years and that Mary lives on grease, so she’s not well, either. She’s had thyroid, gallbladder, and other problems.

Anyway, I know God’s gonna get me for this, but like he said, he gets me just for being alive, and I don’t care. These people deserve anything they get from me or anyone else, as far as I’m concerned. I have no sympathy or respect for these people whatsoever. I just wanted to send the pictures to rub in our new land, home and happiness, despite life’s headaches (the blown tire, lack of money, poor health). I like to show off, although, at the same time I’m not out to make these people jealous, and whether or not they happen to be jealous of anything we’ve got – so be it.

What I meant by saying I wish I’d handled – Joyce, I think her name was – differently at Carabetta, as well as Stacey, should be obvious if you’ve read my 1987, 1988 1992 and 1993 journals. When that old bitch Mattie, who lived next door to me, lied to Joyce saying I hit on her, and when Joyce mentioned this to me over the phone, I should’ve simply said it wasn’t true, then hung up on her. I didn’t owe her any explanations. I guess Mattie, who was dating Hank, the drunk below me whom I should’ve killed, thought I was screwing around with the cock.

As for Stacey – when she stepped out of line and dragged me into her office and stuck her shit on me, I should’ve said nothing to her other than, my personal problems with neighbors are none of your business. All that matters to you is that I pay my rent. The resident’s rent money goes to pay your salary. You work for us, so do your job right or I’ll push to have you fired, then I should’ve walked out of that office without another word.

Oh, the many many people I’d wish I’d handled differently! The things I wish I’d said, the things I wish I’d done! I still wouldn’t mind meeting up with old neighbors and acquaintances and ripping the shit out of Larry and Bill, but sending this mail has helped to ease my anger. I feel a lot better. I don’t know how much of the letters will be read, and I don’t know if Larry will throw the tape out before even hearing one word of it, but the point’s the same – the reminder of my existence and what can happen if they fuck people over like they have. It feels good to put the same stress on them that they put on me. I know this is it and that I’ll never contact them again, but they don’t. So they’ll have to live with the stress of not knowing what I’m gonna do next and when I’m gonna do it.

Anyway, I may not be able to undo the way I handled people in the past, but I do handle things differently now…woe to the next neighbor or the next anybody that crosses me in a bad way. I just know that if I ever get into a physical fight ever again I’ll kill the person. If I don’t, they’ll wish to hell I did. And it doesn’t matter how small or big they are. I’ve known this for years now, that if I ever get in a fight ever again, I’ll either end up killing or nearly killing the person. What happened with that crazy butch Mary D on Oswego St., where we shoved each other around and spun round and round in circles clutching onto one another, knocking my shit all over the place, will never happen again. I won’t be shoving anyone, I won’t be making threats, I won’t be pulling hair or pinching. I’ll be kicking, punching, throwing and choking. And it wouldn’t matter if the person were 8’ tall, weighing 300 pounds. Put me down to 3’ and 50 pounds and the next person to rub me the wrong way is still doomed to end up in either or a morgue or a hospital while I walk away with nothing more than minor cuts and bruises. I just know this. Hopefully, this will never have to come to be, though. I don’t want any trouble any more than most people want trouble. It would’ve already come to play out if that black bitch that came wailing to my door had made the tiniest threat or movement towards me, but lucky for her she didn’t. I suppose it was lucky for me too, since I probably would’ve been arrested if my claim of self-defense didn’t work. They probably would’ve told me I’d gone too far for just self-defense, and who knows if any of her associates would’ve shot me or Tom for it.

Anyway, my not giving Bill a piece of my mind up till now was like being slapped and gagged and unable to fight back or speak out against the person doing it. This is why the anger built up and up and I felt like I could explode every time I thought of this sick fuck. I mean, I’d still happily beat the snot out of him if I crossed paths with him, but lucky for him, we’ll never do that, although I wouldn’t get arrested in his case. He’d never have the balls to admit to anyone that I dogged him. Out of all the letters I sent, I think Bill’s the most likely to read his. Or at least most of it. Remember, this is a very angry cock who can’t handle shit, so his anger may override his curiosity to read all I have to say and all that others will read, too. I can picture him reading part of it, then furiously crumpling the letter up, and hurling it against the wall in a rage while he swears like a trucker.

It hit me earlier that something I’ve always assumed may not be the case. I’ve always assumed that Mom doesn’t respond to Doe and Art’s holiday cards, but maybe she does. Maybe she sends them yearly cards, too. If she does, then they’ll see by the return address that she didn’t move. I just hope they leave them alone. I’d rather them send mail for me to return than have them bother anyone I know out here. I totally regret giving them her address/number, though, and hers wasn’t the only address/number I so stupidly gave out. I think they also might have Ray and David’s number/address, although David and Evie have since moved and gotten a new number. I wish there was absolutely no way for them to contact us, but they can’t do anything to hurt me if they did contact Mom or us directly. All they could do is annoy me by reminding me of them and their wasteful existence in society. They’re not gonna come out here toting guns to shoot me with and they can’t throw me to the state and its funny farms and “private schools,” either. They can’t drug me up or take away the things I treasure most when I’m not being what they want me to be. I’m free of them. Completely free of them.

Tom asked why I just don’t call them and piss them off regularly by resuming contact with them, but that’s not the same and they’re not worth the shit I’d have to take from them. They’ve made me a very angry person and this is the only way I can get back at them and deal with my anger. I can’t piss them off and stress them out and give them a piece of my mind in the same way if I were associating with them. It isn’t the same when you’re associating with someone regularly, and besides, except for maybe Doe, Art and Tammy, Larry wouldn’t want anything to do with me any more than I want anything to do with him, and I don’t want a damn thing to do with Doe, Art and Tammy, either. I’m not that angry.

Tom said he hopes it’s over and that I’ll let it go cuz he’s seen what it does to me. Oh, it’s over. It’s definitely over. Unless they make it not over, it’s over, and they haven’t called Mom or sent any mail to me yet.

Later...

I love this – just hitting control 8 and it automatically puts the time in for me. Control 9 and I have the date and time.

While I’m making Tom mashed potatoes, I’ll write about his trip to the doctor. I’m not sure what’s going on or what to believe. He said the doctor was pretty punctual and that he seemed nice enough. Very cautious too, as most doctors are when you complain of chest pain. Especially if you’re a guy. He couldn’t find anything obviously wrong, but because he’s not a cardiologist, he wants him to see one Monday for a stress test, chest x-ray, and some blood work, to be on the safe side. Tom still thinks he may have some sort of infection or inflammation in the lungs and that he may need antibiotics. Meanwhile, the doctor prescribed him nitro tablets just in case it is his heart, but he says the doctor said his heart was beating normally and his blood pressure was good enough, so maybe Tom’s right. They say we’re the ones to know our bodies best. They did an EKG on him too, which was OK. The doctor said that if he had had a heart attack over the last couple of weeks, the EKG would show it, but a cardiologist can tell if what’s been going on is a warning sign of a heart attack to come. God, I hope not! God, you leave poor Tom alone, you hear?! You want to pick on one of us – pick on me.

Anyway, he only has to take the nitro if he has chest pains. The doctor said to keep taking aspirin like he has been for the aches he’s been having, and that’s also good for his heart too, if he is coming into any heart trouble. The doctor also said the pains he described having are weird. I know Tom’s not making this up or else he wouldn’t have gone to the doctor, but could any of this be psychosomatic? He just has so many damn problems. One after another after another. Could some of it be psychological as a way to avoid me? His doctor told him to take it easy, but he didn’t tell him not to have sex. Meanwhile, I’ll bet he uses this as an excuse not to screw on Sunday, although I kind of hope he does, so I don’t have to deal with the same old boring grind. He said the doctor didn’t ask any sexual questions, and whether or not he’s telling the truth beats me and doesn’t matter either way.

I feel so guilty. Whether or not it’s all out of his control, partly psychological, or all psychological, I feel so helpless and responsible. I’ve totally hexed him. I feel I’m nothing but a burden and an expense who’s nothing but a curse for him. He was never this way before we met. Now I know most of it is God’s will to keep us from having much sex and just to be mean, but either way, I feel so bad and I worry for him. I still greatly fear he’ll die before I do. Not too much longer before I do, though, not too much longer.

I used to think God was keeping us from having much sex to keep me from getting pregnant, but now I know differently. God can do anything, including sterilizing me from the get-go, and he doesn’t need to put any work into seeing that someone remains childless. So, what I’m saying is that now I know it was all about sex. All the time it was only about sex. I couldn’t get pregnant by Brenda, yet I had sex problems with her. I couldn’t get pregnant by Al, cuz he rubbered up, yet the sex absolutely sucked with the premature squirter. Well, it’s OK now, God. I’ll take the infrequent sex with no complaints cuz I just don’t dig it anymore, so give him a break and go after me for a change (all I’ve had over the last few years is the usual tightness and congestion bullshit).

Anyway, he says he’s been more rundown since we met because he’s got more demands and responsibilities. I’m sorry, but that’s a lame excuse. What about people with kids? They’re the ones who should get sickly and rundown. Except for when we worked on the old house to sell it and except for all the bullshit we went through to get this house and get into it, he has a way easier life than a lot of people do. No wonder he’s afraid of having a kid. No wonder he doesn’t want to deal with its burdens, costs, time and responsibilities, although I agree. The problems a kid would bring would greatly override any joys/rewards it’d bring. Yet he stubbornly denies this and says a kid wouldn’t have made any difference. Oh yeah? Who’s he kidding? I think he says this as a cover. He’ll always say the exact opposite of how he truly feels when it comes to a kid.

I forgot to mention something funny Mary said when I was bitching to her about how I can’t do anything I want to do when we were discussing getting my story published. She said maybe something up there has been guiding me in another direction (by not allowing me to do what I want to do), and I’m thinking to myself – yeah, right! To where? Where’s it guiding me? To the same place I’ve always been? Wow! My address may have changed many times over the last 15 years, and I may have quit smoking, straightened my teeth, had ear surgery, and done a zillion different things, but at the same time, my life is the same old. My lifelong destiny, since I met Tom, was to be a homemaker. Not a singer, a mom, a writer, an artist, a teacher, a baker, a nurse, a nun, a carpenter, a bus driver, a cop, or the fucking president.