Each time we move I get a new problem. In Maricopa, it was the blacks. In the duplex, it was my ear. In the dump house, it was my toe. In the Jes pest trailer, it was thrush. Here it’s a burning, itchy pussy. Definitely gotta make an appointment after the carpet’s in. If we ever do move to FL, maybe it will be cancer. 

Nane’s been having it rough. She missed her plane and had to pay an additional 550 euros and now she has a Trojan virus. 

Started reading what I’ve got so far on my newest story and while it may be well written, the story itself is so lame. Yup, I’m a better blogger than I am a storyteller. I’m still having fun with it, though. 

I’m a lousy cook with no patience or desire to learn any more than I care to learn tennis, so I buy premade stuff and share it with the rats. They love it. This isn’t the 70s or 80s, so not all frozen or refrigerated food is unhealthy as long as it’s not fried or battered. There’s enough unprocessed stuff out there; it just costs more than buying everything raw and having to cook it yourself. I do buy uncooked chicken wings and pork chops at times, though, which I season with paprika, garlic salt and things like that. I also like chunky soups and cereal at times too, some of it healthy, some of it sugary crap I go sparingly on. Captain Crunch just isn’t as healthy as Grape Nuts. 

Running has been getting harder for me lately and I wonder if I’m just getting too heavy for it, especially when I’m PMSing and carrying an extra few pounds of water. Also, my right knee has been bothering me. Because of it I have been walking more and running less. Oh well, I am 48 after all and not 28. Besides, running may elevate your heart rate better, but it’s definitely not the greatest source of exercise as it does have an impact on the joints over the years. So instead of doing 20-30 minute runs, I’m making 35-45 minute walks, though I am still doing some running. Not enough to lose weight with, of course, because my calories are still too high and I’m usually taking in more than I’m putting out. 

I love getting out there at around midnight. It’s so peaceful. All you hear is distant freeway traffic. I love, love, love the way the flowers smell, too. The scent of jasmine seems to be heavier at night, and having the nose of a bloodhound, as I do, I could smell other things along the way. Last night I caught a whiff of the rubbery smell of balloons for a minute, as well as rubbing alcohol. I love the lack of traffic, too. I stay in the middle of the road where no skunks or pissed-off possums can jump out at me from behind any bushes. 

In a few hours, next door should be heading out for their first of many trips during the day. It hit me that despite their age, they very well could own a business or store of some kind. Why else would a couple of retirees be in and out so much? If I'm right then the trips in and out will probably go on until they die. At least they're usually quiet about it. 

In last night’s dream, I was at some store and Tom was in an adjoining room. I was inspecting a small doll I had custom-made on the shop side and then I went over to Tom who was on the phone with the police describing a woman with “dangerous-looking eyes”. Then he hung up and said she tried to strangle him and seemed very weak. 

“Ok, what have we got?” I said, meaning what stuff did we have to gather up that we’d gotten so we could get the hell out of there before the lunatic had a chance to return. 

In another “scene,” Tammy was expected to come out to our two-story home (why do we always have two-story houses in my dreams?) but it seemed more like it was because something was wrong with me than just to visit. Tom was talking about dropping to part-time while she was there and as he was getting ready for work I asked, “Do you think I’ll be ok today?” 

Later… 

Molly had a 12-second run of my Blogger blog really early this morning, according to GA, and a 2-minute run of LiveJournal in which all she could see were old posts from 2002. I’m turning each entry that I proofread from private to public as I go through them. 

For a minute I was tempted to run and hide even more, like I usually am when I see her on my tracker. I was going to make all known blogs to her private, then said, nah. I’m not changing my life for this forever-obsessed nut. It’s more important to me that I’m not contacted anyway, as opposed to what she can read. I’d still love to piss her off by disappearing and know she was going through the frustration of trying to find me, but her feelings don’t matter to me nearly as much as doing what I want to do. I’m too selfish to disappear on her, but I am not going to give her the satisfaction of having ways to reach out to me. She can only send me a message on Facebook and of course I’d block her if she did. She doesn’t appear to have found me on Prosebox yet. 

I only have the Austin IP blocked now, not Harlingen. With my shit luck, Mommy back home will one day decide to comb through my Blogger blog when I’m not around to catch and block her. I know her. If anyone does anything to her precious daughter, she’ll look for me, Aly, Kim – anyone she thinks may either be responsible or have any information – and what better way than to comb through my blog, not that she’ll ever get that I don’t give a shit about picking on her daughter. I just want her eyes kept out of my business. Nothing I do in life concerns her and so what I write about shouldn’t matter. 

What I wonder is why Molly and Mommy haven’t figured out how to disable their cookies. If Molly did that I would think she’d be able to have free reign of my blog, but I wouldn’t know it, of course. Ignorance may be bliss, but it would also make me curious. Hell, I still wonder about Kim at times. Does she ever peek in on me? I hope not for the same reasons I hope Molly isn’t, but I do wonder at times. Natural curiosity, I guess.