We had quite an exciting day today. One fight, one cell search, and another celly came in to join us right after we got Jessica out of here – thank God!

Right after I wrote how hard it’d be to choose between Kim and Jessica, the answer became obvious I’d choose Kim. Kim’s stable. Jessica wasn’t. And I don’t know about this new celly, Tara, claiming to be an FBI agent.

Anyway, Jessica decided to trade in her laughter for rudeness. She became moody and disrespectful, and I’m so glad she’s gone, the dumb mental case! I’m so grateful to Kim for setting her straight.

Kim asked her to kindly not look at her while she put a jail-made tampon in and that was just too much for Jessica to handle, so the stupid idiot swung at Kim. I knew Kim could take her, and that’s exactly what she did. She nailed the bitch to the floor, kicked and punched her, and held her down till I could call for the DOs, who luckily, were on their way up to do their rounds.

Jessica was moved to her own cell. I knew it would come to this, and Kim and I are both glad it did because we knew that’d be the only way to get rid of her. No wonder Jessica has been in so many fights.

After Jessica was pulled and things settled down and I had a few moments to reflect upon it all, there was something off about it. Just something not right. I pictured them fighting, then asked myself, OK, what’s wrong with this picture?

Then it hit me. It’s rather simple, too. What’s wrong here is the fact that I just watched somebody attack someone else and get away with it. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in this fucking jail accused of a much, much lesser crime. Thanks, God!

Like I said, though, we got someone new. Why is something up there so obsessed with me being around people? Lots of people. The more I try to avoid people, the more God forces them on me. This is what I get for trying to hibernate on a 10-acre ranch, huh? God always has to push me in the opposite way in which I want to go.

Right now it’s looking like Kim and I have 2 weeks before they roll us up for M. When you’re told to “roll up,” it means you roll up your sheet with your shit in it and you move to wherever you’re moving to.

Tara is of average height and weight with short blond hair and light eyes. I’m not sure I can stand Tara. She’s obviously wired wrong. She paces, talks to herself, and is totally spaced.

I want to be alone so I can piss/shit in private, but that’ll never happen. Besides, I’d get lonely without Kim. I wish we could cell together for the rest of my time here, but she only has 2 months left.

We got “tossed” really well earlier by Officer Palma, a good-looking Mexican (all the good-looking ones are assholes). To get your cell tossed means to have your cell searched. The whole pod got searched. We’re only supposed to have one set of clothes, so Palma took our extra clothes. Poor Kim, though. She lost her jail-made tampons, the pictures she put up, the string she was dying in Kool-Aid to make bracelets out of, and a few other contraband items.

I asked Palma what she was searching for, and she asked if I had anything to hide. After we stepped out of the cell, Kim told me never to ask a DO what they’re looking for.

“Well, I didn’t know,” I told Kim. “I’m still pretty jail-illiterate.”

At least dinner wasn’t too bad tonight – a burrito with a donut, beans and the usual carrots. Most of the food they serve is starch. I guess they aim to fatten you up so you’re not in very good shape. Guess they feel less threatened by fat, out-of-shape people.

About 90% of the DOs are female. Can’t complain about that.

I watched 2 mice run around in here last night. So cute! One even ran over my foot.

Saw Tom today who said he’s still sleeping in the guest room. Says he’d miss me too much in the master bed. I’m surprised he misses me with all that’s happened! I feel as guilty as I do mad/depressed. He’s a hell of a guy. The only one I can trust and count on to stick by me.

He said he’s vacuumed and stuff like that.

How sweet.

He put down $50 on my books and will give me as much as I need when I need it.

He also says he’s going to order the doll care kit so I can still get doll catalogs. I can’t ever imagine getting another doll at this point!

He said he’s going to mention my ear when he goes to fight my losing battle of a case, to explain why noise bothers me (because I can’t tell the direction sounds are coming from, and how the NHA scarred me), but I say they won’t give a shit.

Another thing he wants to clear up is how they said my city letters caused the blacks to lose the house. He wants to let them know that he was the one who sent the letters. That’s fine, but if that black bitch lost the house, which wasn’t her house, then that’s because she and her sick people couldn’t shut the fuck up, so that’s her problem. She should’ve thought about that before laying her shit on us and she should’ve taken the responsibility of controlling her company when it got out of hand. She was oh so dramatic in court too, saying how lucky she is to be alive and how she’s had to move twice since.

I never knew where she moved to. That’s why I sent the mail to her old address, so if she had to move, it’s no doubt because she got into it with the people there and that’s her problem.

The DOs usually call inmates by their last names, and only the DOs’ first and middle initials are on their nametags, along with their last names. Guess they feel it’s less personal that way and will discourage staff and inmates from fraternizing with each other. Some DOs are OK, but some are like these cold, impersonal robots.

I’ve been talking with Kara, a therapist here who’s very nice. She agrees that I don’t belong here and has listened to me with patience, unlike the snotty, impatient shrink I first saw back in the tents.

I hate shrinks!

Tom mentioned Helen’s wanting to write to me (my therapist). That’d be great. I miss seeing Helen in her nice, comfy office. I got to like her, too. Here, I sit on an upside-down bucket and strain to hear what Kara says. Especially when the chain gang comes marching in.

I have lost weight and am around 108-110 pounds. The ring I just had enlarged will be too big for me when I get out of here. Another $25 wasted.

I haven’t described our hideously ugly and baggy uniforms yet. We wear traditional, old-fashioned black and white striped shirts and pants. They give you these drab gray gowns, too. The towels, socks and thermal underwear are pink, and the bras, which are comfortable sports bras, are white. The panties are color-coded by size. Pink is small, blue is medium, yellow is large, and white is extra-large. For shoes, you get these orange plastic shower sandals.

The DOs wear tan or brown uniforms, similar to a cop’s.