Tom was right, so far, and the appointment yesterday was a breeze. You just cost us another $60, you fucking freeloaders! Despite the additional money, I, the victim, have lost, it was just a matter of answering a whole lot of personal questions concerning my emotional and physical being. I thought some of the questions were pretty funny, like – do I feel pushed around? Do I sometimes wish I was never born?

Do I ever!

Then he says to me, “Well, you’re married, so I assume you’re heterosexual,” when he brought up the subject of sexual orientation.

“Actually, I’m bi,” I answered.

Not that I’m ashamed to say so, but what does my sexual preference have to do with this so-called letter I’m supposed to have written? They even marked that I was white on one of their forms. Why? So they can know who to discriminate against?

Tom, who was with me during my talk with this lady and then the guy who interviewed me, was as confused as we were as to what they wanted. They mainly deal with drug and alcohol cases. Not this shit. So they called Scot, who said that this was just a formality. I informed them up front that I did not intend to return to them and that I already had a therapist. They agreed and wrote the letter Scot said he needed, saying that they don’t see any reason to treat me further. It’s just one of those things the state requires; a letter saying someone is or isn’t crazy. Those fucking courts still need to be more specific when they say immediate and specify whether or not immediate means upon sentencing, or upon release from jail.

Tom was saying how that’s one more thing we can check off as done, but I don’t know. It seems that whenever we check something off our little freeloader list, they add something else right back on. And more money, too.

I still don’t know what shocks me more. Just the fact that I got arrested for this shit, or the outrageous sentence I got for it. You can go to court for anything. Anything. Especially if you’re not white. You can bitch about anything. Even journals that you, as an adult, had the right to ignore and weren’t forced to read. It’s like the little boy who ran to his teacher because another little boy called him stupid. Where do we draw the line as to what we can go running to the piggies and courts for? They’re not our parents, for Christ’s sake!

People need to find their proper places. An example of that is Stacey from the Vista Ventana. She should never have gotten involved in my disputes with other tenants. It wasn’t her place to stick her nose into my personal business like that. If I had been loud like the cock above me was in the first building and like the butch was in the second building, that’d be different. Her job was to see to it that tenants followed pool rules, weren’t rowdy and noisy, weren’t destroying things, were paying their rent, etc., but as far as my phone calls to others; this was none of her concern. Stacy was so much like Donna A and Dureen O. Anything to control others.

Just as I predicted in either May or June, we’re having car trouble. I said we’d have it in August, and sure enough, as soon as August was upon us, so was the car curse. It doesn’t always want to start right away. Tom has to clean off corrosion that’s gunked up on some cables.

Around mid-July, I had a vibe concerning today but didn’t know if it was good or bad. I’m hoping it has to do with the better job/raise Tom said he’s been hoping for at the bank.

Now for the best news – I finally heard from Mary! She said she did get my letters. One of hers to me was returned saying “attempted, unknown,” but I don’t know what this meant. Maybe they just didn’t like the idea of sending out letters to someone with only their first name since she had been sending letters to “Dawn.” I even decided to start sticking our new address labels on. Who cares if any nosy DOs read my mail to her? I’m not saying anything wrong. And as far as Scot goes – he can tell me what to do, but I’ll follow my heart and do what I think is best.

I’m sending her 5 pictures per letter, which is all that’s allowed at once. They can’t be bigger than 5 x 3. Pictures of the animals, us, the house, the land.

She mentioned wanting to take all the letters she’s written to friends someday and publish them, so I went ahead and typed up the 3 letters I’ve received from her so far and sent them to her. I told her she’d have 2 files on my computer. One for her letters to me (I’ll trash the originals) and one for her life’s story.

Her writing’s getting easier to read as I get used to it, though it’s still too big and the lines run too closely together. She’s not a great speller, but better than most. She never uses periods, though. All she uses are commas. She never uses caps, either, or makes paragraphs, so as I explained to her, that as her editor, I’d fine-tune stuff like this. Sometimes she writes the word “there” when it’s supposed to be “their”, so I’ll also be correcting grammatical stuff as best I can. I asked her to be more specific with commas and periods. Although I can pretty much figure out when to put periods in, based on the context of what she’s saying, it’ll go faster and easier for me if she’s more specific on that.

She says she’s still having trouble picking up a pencil to write because some airhead once discouraged her really badly. I told her to fuck that airhead and just write, letting her know she’d be the author and that I’d simply be the one getting her story typed and out there (hopefully). Unsure of how to go about it, I suggested she either write her story in chunks or by subjects. Maybe write her preteen years, then her teenage years, and then her 20s. Or go by events, both good and bad, in the order that she remembers them.

She said Palma hasn’t worked there since she’s been back, and that was shortly after I left.

She said she figured I’d check up on her case, but not to believe it cuz they’re liars.

I hope one particularly disturbing part was a lie, that’s for sure! Some articles I found say she was killed and buried right away. Others say she was in agony for days with a broken arm and fractured skull before she was buried.

Myra C, yes, but I can’t imagine Mary G of all people, no matter how much of a fugitive she may’ve been, sitting around doing nothing while her child suffered like that. The only way that could’ve happened is if Justin wouldn’t let her get help. Mary could never be that selfish.

She commended me for writing my own book, which I reminded her she could have as soon as she got out of there. She still doesn’t know when that’ll be.

She said she found out from an inmate that Myra’s already been beat up in prison.

I figured she would be. She’s the type that’ll get regular beatings, but the pervert deserves anything she gets, even death.

She said that the pictures were great.

I told Miss Balls of Brass that although I can’t say who it is with her still in there, she’s going to call me Miss Balls of Brass since no one did my dirty work for me as far as Teddy Bear goes. I hit on her all by myself. It still stuns the shit out of me that I got her! It was mutual!

She also says that when she gets out she wants to dye her hair fuchsia, grow it down to her kneecaps, and be an activist for battered women. She wants me to go along with her on this, too.

Then, for the first time since meeting her just over 7 months ago, I wondered if her fondness for me could go deeper than I ever realized. I hope not, cuz I don’t like fems that are weaker than me, not that it would really matter. I mean, what’s she gonna do? Rape me? Women don’t usually do that to other women. I’m not worried about it. It’s not important as long as she’s a good friend.

What made me start to wonder? All the comments she’s made like how she wants it to be where you see one, you see the other. You’re the bomb, we’re a team, we need each other, it was meant to be, I so do love you, you’re my shining star, and all the praise and compliments she’s lavished upon me.

The babies are ready for segregation. They’re all getting around and eating and drinking, although they still nurse a bit. However, as is usually the case for me, they all looked the same when I tried to sex them. They all looked like girls. So, I’ll have Tom help me this weekend. I wish the guy’s balls were developed from the get-go, but by the time it’s easy to sex them, it’s too late and they’re already breeding.