We didn’t get water yesterday, and as soon as I awoke at 7:30, I knew we weren’t getting it today, either.

No words can express the red-hot liquid hate I feel for God and how strongly I wish I could yank him down from the sky and beat the shit out of him. Even Mom said to Tom last night on the phone, “Maybe God does hate her.”

Well, that’s been rather obvious for a long time now, hasn’t it? I’ve given up on asking why. I don’t know why, and I don’t care why. I just wish he’d leave us the fuck alone. Not even God can ignore those he hates. He has to torture them year after year.

I’m too pissed off to write anymore at the moment. All I know is that it’s going to be days before we get water if we don’t get it today, and we’re looking at a lot of trips into Phoenix in the meantime. But I know Phoenix would love to have us, so there’s nothing to worry about there.

Later…

I’m not sure if we’re going to get water today or not. I won’t believe it till I see it, but here’s an update so I don’t get too backed up.

The day and time I predicted we’d get water yesterday would’ve been right had God not inflicted punishment upon Walter for trying to help us and done things to stall us from getting water. Instead, at 1:30 that afternoon, I suddenly knew we weren’t getting water that day. Then by 3:00, I knew he wasn’t even coming. As it would turn out, the axle on his trailer broke, and that would’ve happened around the time my vibes changed. Everything was bought, though, so it was just a matter of having the pipe delivered to his house this morning, but what should God have happen to the poor person delivering the pipe? They got stuck. Then, after they got unstuck, a tire blew on this other old trailer of Walter’s, so he had to take it in to be fixed.

He’ll supposedly be here in about an hour, but I don’t know. This all makes me wonder if he’ll get killed en route to our place. Anything to keep us from getting water sooner. I’m nearly as worried for the guy as I am for us.

Then last night, as if God hadn’t shit on us enough already, he went and broke poor Tom’s computer. Talk about adding insult to injury! Two-year-old pumps and 6-month-old computers just don’t break. They just don’t. Nobody’s shit breaks like ours. Nobody’s.

What’s left for him to go after in this house and what will be next? The dryer? The lights? The roof?

I’ve really nailed this thing vibe-wise with uncanny accuracy. My psychicness really develops with age. In my early 20s, all I could do was get these little feelings here and there, but no details. Now I’m getting more accurate and more detailed with the things I see/sense.

Anyway, there’s a scattering of dead bushes alongside the washes. I broke up an ugly dead one yesterday while I was waiting hopelessly.

Although soft, and not audible in the house, I could hear Dan’s place thumping with music again. Hey, not hearing music on a 10-acre ranch in the middle of a weekday is simply out of the question, so what can I say?

If God will let us, we’re going to put up hedges, with or without a fence, in back. George’s dumpy little city is such an eyesore, let alone an invasion of privacy. They’ve got this ugly red writing now on one of the water tanks.