I can’t believe I have under 25 pages of over a month’s worth of journaling. It’s just that I’ve been busy typing the Estrella book. The faster I get those jailhouse journal drafts typed up, the better I’ll feel, even though with my memory, I could write the thing without the drafts. It’s the little details that although I remember most, I wouldn’t want to forget.

Also, I’m blessed enough to not have a whole lot to write about (for now), and knowing that someone may steal these journals, puts a damper on my writing enthusiasm. Instead of going into detail, I’m basically just writing the facts, and that’s it.

The fact is, I had a major mouse mix-up and lost track of who was making it with whom. That’s because a male mouse jumped into the ladies’ cage, and a female mouse just had to go where the boys were! So now, I could have half a dozen pregnant ladies. You know how it is, though - when you don’t plan or try, they breed well.

Saw Scot yesterday, who shocked me by not asking for a piss test. We told him we’d call Helen for more referrals for this stupid, waste-of-time screening they want done (we had no luck with the two names she gave us), that they should’ve done in the first place.

I have about 40 community service hours done. I’ve been picking up bottles every other week so that the other two probationers can have their share. Meanwhile, Tom dropped off bottles and recyclable shit today, even though it wasn’t my week for bottles.

Tom taught me an interesting thing. We went out to decide whether or not we should bomb this evening (we did) based on which direction the storm was headed. All the storm cells we could see didn’t appear to be coming our way. He was holding up his finger, and I was like – what are you doing? He explained to me that if you wet your finger, the side that gets cold tells you which way the wind’s blowing. Neat, huh?

We’re sure now that Dan’s gone. His name’s now off the mailbox, but no new name’s gone up yet. I just know it isn’t Teddy Bear, unfortunately. These people obviously beat her to it, not that she’d necessarily want to live this far out and have such a long drive to the jail (a little over an hour). So far, it appears that God’s blessed us with a few, quiet white people. They hang out back a lot at night when it’s cool, judging by the lights, but I haven’t seen or heard them yet. Knowing that they’re white and judging by the size of that small house, I’d say there are only one or two people living there. They have one vehicle, from what I can see. A dark-colored jeep of some kind. Could even be a Bronco or a Blazer. It’s hard to tell at a distance.

Do I want to meet them?

No. I don’t want to know they exist and I’m not at all curious about them. I don’t want them making their business our business or making their trash our trash. They don’t seem to be slobs like next door does, but next door’s Mexican and we all know that God puts me next to blacks or Mexicans no matter where I go. At least most of their junk is heavy shit that can’t blow into our yard. Most of their land is fenced off, too. Anyway, those who have newer or nicer houses tend to be less trashy than those with dumps.