When Alison said she read my MD journal from the beginning but found it hard to follow, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I really was a shitty writer back then. I stated the facts, but not the details, leaving one to wonder who the hell certain people are and all that. But little did I know in 1987 that my journals would one day be available for the world to see. I certainly didn’t write them with that in mind, so I didn’t bother to explain much.

Still no weekend barking, though I did hear about 20 seconds of barking Friday night. Something probably temporarily stirred them up, though, cuz if he’d taken off and no one else was home, there’d have been a helluva lot more than just 20 seconds.

My dreams didn’t tell me anything about moving, but my mother was alive again. She lived in an apartment for old people. It was small and only had a living room with a kitchen along one wall, plus a windowless bedroom. I was thinking of ways to get her back to the Land of the Dead without getting caught when I woke up.

Tom is doing an experiment he read online to get rid of pit stains on shirts. You soak them in white vinegar for a half-hour, then you wash them. Bleach is actually supposed to be bad for them. They also need to be air-dried when doing this treatment.

Today’s South Carolina’s turn to look at my jail entry. Oh, now Canada.