As I “tweeted” on Histofme, I realized how much I’ve changed over the years as far as what I’ll be dumb enough to fall for and what I’ll be dumb enough to put up with. I put up with sooo much shit from sooo many people and in some ways that was almost as bad as a woman who puts up with abuse. When I realized how different my reaction would be to “Teddy Bear” showing up today vs. years ago, that pretty much told me something right there. I’m definitely not nearly as tolerant and forgiving as I once was. In the past, had Teddy Bear apologized for blowing me off and asked to be forgiven, I probably would've forgiven her and agreed to move on as friends. Now I'd be like, "Get the fuck out of my face! Just get out." Really, I don't forgive and I definitely don't forget. 

When I read through the part where she opens the cell door and says, “Here, give me your hand,” then shakes it and tells me good luck, I immediately thought to myself, “There! She just dismissed me. Why didn’t I fucking see this 13 years ago?” 

Who Teddy Bear was is a long story. She can be found in my Maricopa book. I’ll just quickly say she was a detention officer who did a fine job of leading me on with false promises and all kinds of BS. I never expected or wanted to trade in my husband for her, of course, but she gave me every reason to believe she’d be a fun and interesting addition to my life and I was dumb enough to fall for it, too. 

Do I like the newer, smarter, less tolerant me? I do. I wish to hell I’d had this attitude years ago as it would’ve saved me a lot of grief. It’s not that I won’t give anyone in the future the time of day; it just means I’m not as naïve and gullible as I once was. 

The same can be said for my mother. Had she died 20 years earlier I’d have been all tears and quick to run into her arms if there’s an afterlife where we all meet up with each other. Now, I not only didn’t shed a tear when she died two years ago, each day I am closer to my own death and that means I’m one day closer to beating the shit out of her in the afterlife and giving her a double dose of the pain she once inflicted upon me if that’s ever a possibility. Then again, I suppose that’s just wishful thinking and I’m being as naïve and gullible as I used to be. God will stand in my way and protect her just like He did when she was alive. If He let her hurt me in this life, why would He let me feed her a taste of her own medicine in that life? He did nothing to stop her because He either wanted her to hurt me or He just didn’t care. I see no reason that would change in the afterlife, but if I’m wrong, I’ll get your ass, bitch, in about 30-35 years. That’s one form of revenge I will definitely not pass up if I ever have a chance to act on it with no consequences or harm to myself. So… I’d probably spare my brother and maybe even my father and the evil grandmother that made my mother who she was, but if Mommy Dearest and anyone involved in the framing is there… 

Andy knew what he was talking about when he said I was the shortest, angriest person he knew, but then there's Aileen Wuornos. Anger can make you stronger or it can make you as crazy as it made Aileen, whose childhood actually made mine seem not half bad. I could go on and on listing all kinds of things my parents did to me, but the one thing I never had to fear was going to bed and wondering if I’d wake up to find my father molesting me. 

Later… 

Haha, Andy woke the brat up next door blasting music. Then it was coo-coo time as Mommy tried to get it back to sleep. Andy then felt bad. 

I’m amazed the kid’s not in daycare and the mother isn’t back to work already. Not only can most moms, single or not, not afford to take the time off, but you know how it is today with those under 65 not working, new moms or not. It’s seen as a bad thing, and most guys refuse to support their GFs/wives, so she’s lucky. 

Yesterday I fantasized about the idea of each day passing that brings me a day closer to death meaning that I get to return all the pain and suffering to my mother in the afterlife that she inflicted upon me in my earthly life. My punishment for that was a dream of moving into a new house with them, LOL. Only I seemed to be quite thrilled about it, actually. 

It was either getting late or we had other things to do because we could only make one trip over there as soon as we got the keys. We all grabbed what we could and drove over there, me riding in the back seat. 

Upon arriving at the long 3-bedroom ranch-style house, I ran to pick out my bedroom. I chose a small room with a toilet in one corner (LOL) with green carpet and pink-flowered walls. 

The room in the middle was colorless and ordinary. The master bedroom was done in deep reds and had a fireplace in it. “This room’s for you,” I told my folks, knowing they’d want it anyway. 

The kitchen had an angled wall with a shelf on it. Some stuff sat on it, including my most valuable collectible doll, which someone had brought over. “Oh, so Bailey’s the first to go home,” I said, and then I ran back into my new bedroom where Tom and some mysterious lady suddenly appeared. The previous owners left their beds and we were all discussing not wanting to sleep on sheets someone else had already slept on. 

Later… 

Three rats that are about to be served cheesy broccoli can be funny as hell, haha. I took out their bowl and started filling it up outside the cage so they wouldn’t run and grab it and make a mess, and as they were waiting they were bouncing back and forth like a person needing to pee, twirling, etc. Sooo damn funny! 

Hoodie is growing up fast and is an official beggar. He knows how to “ask” for treats, come to the door to beg to be let out, be a pest, and all that fun stuff when his mommy is trying to write. 

A new diet idea just popped into mind that may not leave me feeling like I’m starving my ass off. I know, I know, I’m predestined to fail and there’s no “magic” diet. If there was, I’d have figured it out long ago and so would others. I’ve still got a bum thyroid, I’m still middle-aged, and I’m still a woman. It was based on that 7-item menu where I eat every 2 hours, starting after being up 2 hours. Maybe I’ll try it next week if only because it certainly can’t hurt even if it doesn’t help. 

We need a new microwave cuz ours is starting to rust. I want something simple that doesn’t have a million buttons. 

Andy had a point when he said that although he enjoys my writing, I often complain and blame too much on God. I’m an outspoken individual, all right. Some may say I was making up for lost time and that due to being forced to keep things in as a child, I grew up determined to really let it out. Besides, I’m not the kind to play down or sugarcoat things. If something is irritating, I’ll say so. 

It isn’t that I don’t blame those who do bad things or my own self when I make some stupid mistake in life. I do blame us humans. But if God is the mastermind of the universe and the people in it, it’s hard not to blame him, too. Like the man who silently sits by while his girlfriend or wife abuses their kid. I blame my mother for abusing me as a kid and my dad for looking the other way. But I also blame God for letting my mother abuse me and letting my dad look the other way. I know, however, that who’s really to blame for this, this and that is really a matter of opinion. Some blame the government for global warming, while most blame the human species as a whole. 

Instead of trying to change who I am and complain less often, I will try to add more positive things to my entries as a sort of compromise. As always, no one’s obligated to read my journals because I’m going to write them whether I have 1 reader, 50 readers, 1000 readers, or no readers at all. I began writing many years before they were shared. 

I also realize I can come across as hard on myself, though I really do try to just change what I can for the better and accept what I can’t. For every negative, there is usually a positive anyway. I’m fat, but I’m in shape and I’m not ugly, even if this too, may be a matter of opinion and wouldn’t matter or change anything if I were ugly. I have shitty vision, but I have glasses that help me to see. God may hate me, but my husband loves me unconditionally and has never complained about my shortcomings or made fun of my fears/phobias. I can’t control when I sleep, but I’m up 16-18 hours just like most people. I’m not fluent in every single language I’ve studied, but I can read, write, and speak enough of them. Hypothyroidism sucks, but it’s better than cancer. I wouldn’t turn heads if I was single and looking, but I would do a great job of turning off the perverts as well.