Took a nap earlier. I figured I would because Mouth woke me up at 8 AM on its hour out.

Brea was on earlier and now Felix is on. She’s pretty cool.

Brea and Chavez totally sympathize with the long stretch of hunger M Dorm must endure between meals, and how it’s OK for the jail to slack off on its duties and responsibilities, but not for us.

For days we’ve been asking for grievances and tanks and were told they’re out of them. It’s their fucking job to keep these things stocked up, but truthfully, I don’t buy it. They’re not out of them. They just don’t want to deal with everyone bitching about the food. Brea finally got me some today. I know they’re useless. I just use them to vent, along with these journals. This time I didn’t even bother to bitch about the same old, overspiced shit we usually get. I just let them know that 13 hours between meals is too long. And why must we be charged $30 a month for donated food?

There was a security override last night because according to Chavez, there were problems in the dorms. They were probably pissed off with the food situation. I’m surprised the men haven’t rioted, although I think they eat earlier than we do.

Chavez says she dreads working in the dorms tomorrow night.

Oh, boo-hoo, Chavez! What a hard life you have. Why don’t you try being an inmate in this place?

Mary, who says the media follows her every time she goes to court, says she’s going to give them a piece of her mind regarding Joe, rather than the usual “no comment.”

Mary and Peaches were arguing earlier. If someone as easy-going as Mary has problems with Mouth and Peaches, imagine if I were with them! I’d kill them both, although I’d refuse to be with them before I got the chance. Even if that meant I had to go to A Tower.

Brea searched today but didn’t take anything. She ignored my extra underwear and barely went through anything. When I commented on how there’s been a lot of searches lately, she said the new captain’s a real pisser (something she swore she’d adamantly deny saying) and for some reason, M is his pet dorm to pick on.

I called Tom today and told him about the food arrangement. As always, he gave me strength and a little bit of hope that said - maybe things will be OK out there, though I must see it to believe it. He reminded me that no matter what the PO is like, I still have to be transferred. Yeah, but what if that one’s a nightmare, too?

Anyway, I love that man and don’t know what I’d do without him. I can’t wait to leap into his arms the day I get out of here! I miss all we used to do together and look forward to all that we will do together (as long as this state and its freeloaders don’t drive me to suicide). I still haven’t figured out what he sees in me. Aren’t I nothing but one big burden and expense? Sometimes I feel like I’ve done him way more harm than good and like I can never repay him for all he’s done for me. I can stand to think of him and Houdini more often now without cracking up because it’s getting closer.

Felix saw me crying and came in to ask if I was OK. That was nice of her to care enough to ask. I told her I’d be OK. I just get a little homesick. It’s getting closer (exactly 6 weeks) but not fast enough! Been here 20 weeks, 140 days.

They say it’s going to be 85° Monday, while I sit and freeze my ass off in this cold, wintry cell.

Tom says the prairie dogs are out. Can’t wait to see them!

I don’t know how it is that using Palmolive dish-washing soap for shampoo, with no conditioner, has made my hair as soft as silk, but it has. And this jailhouse brush is a miracle at keeping knots out. I’m going to buy a new one to take home with me the week before I leave.

Mouth’s bitching about starving again. As much as I love to hate Mouth, she’s got a point – this is crazy. Totally, totally crazy. And I’m hungry as hell, too.

Maybe they’re trying to make more money by doing this. By starving us, they probably think that people will buy more from commissary. I know I’ll be buying more!

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We had the hot dogs I expected we’d have. I ate half of it because I was so hungry and they weren’t overly spicy tonight. The rice, corn and bagels alone were enough to fill me, but what about the salad and dessert we’re supposed to have every night? We never got that.

Myra surprised me by asking if I was OK over here.

Why does she care?

I’m barely OK.

I hope Sharon or somebody comes with a new inhaler tomorrow because mine’s completely dead. Although I can go a few days without it, asthma gets progressively worse the longer it goes untreated.

I can actually hear bass thumping every now and then, though very faintly. We must be near a street, although those car stereos can be heard for miles and miles.

I’m looking forward to stupid little things like burning the manila envelope that carted around my papers while in here, and that also served as my calendar (I drew one on it in November). I stand it up, leaning against the wall.