October 30th is getting closer and the stress is mounting yet again. If God has any mercy on me whatsoever, he’ll make sure this is the last court date. I can’t take this every few months. I just can’t take this anymore! I go home from jails or courts, slowly get on with my life, then the stress and anxiety slowly eats at me little by little as the next court date draws closer and these sick fucks are thrust upon me and my life all over again. Uuuggghhh!!!

Tom noticed I was stressing earlier and said it sometimes helps to talk. No thanks, I told him. I don’t want to argue, which is what we often seem to do when it comes to these blacks, and of course, the Mexicans, too. They’ve come between us enough, thank you. Besides, I’ve got Helen now and it’s her job to listen to me talk to her. It’s not Tom’s place anymore. I don’t want him to have to listen to me bitch about anything, whether we agree on it or argue about it or not.

I find myself not so much missing Andy, but wondering about him. I still feel I did the right thing by cutting him loose. We just had less and less in common as time went on and I got tired of his coming over only when he wanted a button sewn or to browse the net. He became quite the pest, along with his never-ending rebellious attitude towards my simple little requests, and as Tom pointed out, he wouldn’t have been able to come out here anyway. Maybe once every year or two. It just would’ve been too hard on him and his car. And it would’ve been so hard for him to restrain himself from the long-distance calls, too. Nonetheless, and although this is quite impossible, I sometimes wish I could talk to him once a year, but I’d never want to resume regular contact with him. That I don’t miss. Just to know what he’s been up to on a yearly basis would be nice enough. However, what could he tell me? The same thing year after year? Sadly enough, I’m afraid so. I think he’s peaked in life just like I have at this point. I’m sure that although it’s been just over a year since we talked, he’s still doing the same things – getting fired, getting high, hanging out with losers, living on the phone, stuffing his face, and dreaming of Mr. Right, who by most people’s standards, is really Mr. Wrong. Mr. Very Wrong.