Finally, it’s March! It feels like it took forever to get to this day.

This is the longest I’ve been without a celly.

The leak in here stopped along with the rain.

Jill came today and I gave her a tank saying I wanted to stay here for the duration of my sentence.

Misery’s on now and she just got screamed at by Nancy. Nancy was screaming out the door that she needs to go to Medical, please call them, she’s got a fever, she’s sick, etc. Misery’s reply was, “That’s unfortunate, but if you were sick, you should’ve put a medical tank out this morning,” then with an exasperated sigh that I could even hear down here, she walked on.

Gracie came to the door and asked, “How ya doin’, girl?” She’s on her way to B tower where the DOC holds are, then to prison for a year or two. Then she begged for bread and for something sweet (I gave her a piece of hard candy) and if this hideously ugly thing doesn’t have a crush on me, then I’m not a green-eyed brunette going gray. Why do they always have to be ugly in order to like me? Am I that ugly myself?

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Barajas just walked Mary and I back from our visits. Poor Mary had to wait till Tom and I were done before she could return to M, where black Johnson was doing a walk. She hasn’t been here for a couple of months.

When Mary and I were waiting for Johnson to finish her walk, she was complaining about Brandie being a snitch but didn’t explain what she meant by that. Just the other day, though, she said they were tight.

I asked her about having to go to Florida for 10 years and she said, “You’re writing a book. I don’t want to talk about it.”

After I assured her she didn’t have to tell me anything she didn’t want to, I assured her I wasn’t writing a book, either. Not for publication, anyway.

She said she didn’t know why people were saying I was writing a book.

They’re saying it because they’re very guilty of some very serious shit that they want to try to hide and because they’re paranoid.

Misery was her usual by-the-book self, threatening to write up Mindy and others if they passed things under doors.

When she let me out for a clothes exchange, I asked, “Did you have fun at the Oscars?”

She said, “What?” in a defensive tone of voice since most people aren’t very nice to her, so I repeated myself, and she said, “Actually, I didn’t even watch them.”

I told her about the corrupt cop in my case and how the Arizona Republic wanted to do an interview with me, and she said that after 20 years of being a PO, she can tell me that the media is never a friend.

How true!

What a terrifying thought – having Misery for a PO. I asked her which she liked better, being a PO or a DO. She surprised me by saying that there was more paperwork than client contact and she felt like a secretary. What surprised me about it was that you’d think someone like Misery would like having less contact with people. I don’t know. Maybe she felt she couldn’t be as controlling as she’d like to be because of the lack of client contact as opposed to inmate contact. Most people who get into various positions of law enforcement get off on being control freaks who want to act out their aggressiveness. It’s a power-play thing. People who become DOs often feel like social misfits in need of approval and recognition.

My hour visit with Tom seemed as fast as the half-hour visits. He told me that the plants are growing well, and mentioned the cold, rainy weather. He said it was foggy, too.

He said he hasn’t been in the master suite. He only goes in every couple of weeks or so to run water down the drains but has been sleeping in the guest room. He says it saddens him to be in the master bedroom.

I laughed when Tom said Harry wants to play with people, just not him. And how he said he was afraid to get a giant rat because of the way rats love to bite him.

He said he made popcorn for them. That was very nice of him.

We talked about breeding mice and what to do with the extras. He said instead of getting a snake, we could give them to the wild ones outside. Good idea. I think we should feed the extras to the snakes, and feed them to the septic when they’re hibernating.

I’m actually listening to the jazz station. Anything to drown out Myra, who’s pissed off at her lawyer one minute and laugh-barking the next. Anyway, Pérez said it was relaxing, and it is. It’s good writing music.

I was happy to hear I may be able to get CD singles cheaper because they’re having a hard time selling them, thanks to all those who are downloading MP3 files these days.

He says he’s “working on things,” but doesn’t want to get into it while I’m still here. But why am I so worried?! God, I hope everything really will be OK when I get out of here!

Johnson read my joke sheets and liked them.

Tate was laughing the other morning when it was gown exchange. The smallest size they had was a 4X and she got a kick out of how huge it was when I held it up against me. They’ve been exchanging towels 3-4 times a week lately. Why? To have another excuse to wake us up? They’ve been coming earlier, too. It’s just so asinine that they exchange our towels so many times a week, yet we only change stripes once a week. Hell, we change towels more often than our fucking underwear!

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Well, fuck you, too!

Palma walked by while Johnson was on break and she didn’t even acknowledge me. She was talking the whole time she was breezing by to loudmouth Myra, who was out with the rest of her cellies, talking to the religious lady.

I was talking to Johnson earlier about the corrupt pig. The least I can do is spread the word in here about the sick fuck. Besides, I really wanted to see if anyone could give me any useful advice about the situation, but all she could do was ask me if I believed in God.

I was like, “Excuse me?”

She asked again, and I told her that although I believed, I didn’t have very much faith in Him right now, for obvious reasons. He’s the last one that’s going to come to the rescue in this case.