A father-and-son team came out and fixed the clog in the kitchen sink. It’s nice that it only costs $176 since most places want more, but it still seems a bit extreme for a simple job but didn’t even take a half hour. He just vacuumed out the excess water, opened the pipe, and sent his motorized snake down the drain.

It probably was my fault after all as he mentioned eggshells being good for disposals but bad for drains and I definitely put some eggshells down lately. Potatoes are another bad thing as I’ve known for a while now, but we’re just not going to bother using them anymore. Garbage disposals are always a problem. I can just scrape any leftover food off the plate and into the trash. I’ve got some new colorful sink strainers on the way in pink, yellow, blue and orange.

I just wish our shit would stop breaking. The next thing to break was the motor on the coded lock on the back door. I sensed it was broken very strongly and told him so before he discovered that was the case by running some tests. Just a feeling that came to me. So he’s ordered yet another part for that which is another $50.

Starting to see a familiar and frustrating pattern here as I remember the breakage curse that seemed to be on us in Arizona where things were constantly breaking, big and small.

Another frustrating thing was that when I was finally able to clean up the kitchen and put things away, I cut myself on the slicer when loading up the dishwasher. Cut myself deeper than I have in ages, but we managed to put a Band-Aid on it and get it under control. It started bleeding again when I removed the Band-Aid and took a shower, so I re-bandaged it and it’s better today.

Yesterday I had better energy than I’ve had in a while but today I’m tired. It totally fucking figures, too. I knew I would be. I knew I would have trouble sleeping because I had so much energy yesterday. It took 2 Calms Forte to knock me out and I woke up a lot along the way so that’s why I feel anything but rested today.

The fucking cock across the street is back to sawing again. The dark pickup has been there instead of the gold van so I don’t know if it’s Dahl or his son (couldn’t see that deep into the carport at this angle) but today was the second day in a row and once again I want to confront the bastard. But also once again, Tom’s paranoia has me hesitant because of the timing, so he says. He says that because he’s going to be making his own racket putting up the new fence and using the power hose, it wouldn’t be a good time to say anything.

First of all, his power tools are nowhere near as loud as that fucking saw. Second of all, the cock isn’t going to hear his tools inside his house like I can hear his in here, especially when the fence is on the other side of the house. It’s just his reluctance to complain on neighbors that he’s always had.

I do understand his concerns to a degree. I didn’t know I was going to be counter-complained on for being encouraged to come down and swear out a complaint against the loud car. Then complained on again when I “anonymously” complained. People in the West really do hate it when you complain. So it’s tough either way. It sucks having to sit back and quietly take shit, but you can’t speak out about it either without some kind of harassment for it. I mean look at Phoenix. I always thought that the pigs acted on actions and not words because that only made sense, yet they sure did make a whole lot out of nothing in the end, didn’t they?

It still blows my mind how often I hear sawing around here. Even I never would have believed it and would have laughed had someone told me that every 5-6 houses would be wielding the damn things. On just this circle alone that I know of, there was Bob who used to do that, the contractor that moved a few years ago, someone down toward Dixie’s place, someone in back that even Andy saw when he was here and out walking with us, and now this little cock. Definitely not what retirement communities were about when my parents were in them and I’d be willing to bet they never heard a single motorcycle either.

I’m not stupid. I know the 3-month temporary place isn’t going to be so temporary. We always get stuck in places for longer than we want. Always. Oh, it may not be for the eight years we’ll be here, the six years we were in Phoenix or the five years in Auburn, but I’m sure those few months will end up being at least a year. That’s why it’s really important to get the money’s worth out of the realtor we hire to try to get the quietest place possible so that when they’re sawing there as well, since this is obviously what retirement communities have come to, and they’re zooming by on motorcycles, it won’t be as noticeable as it is here.

I can’t wait to get back out into the country and put some space between us and others! I am so sick of people and the racket they make.

Our new Fitbits are on the way! His is black and mine will be what’s called pedal which is a peachy pink of sorts.

I put the silver metallic nails on, but they sucked, and I had to remove them. They were too big and thick and had creases in them. I now have green glitter strips on.

Haven’t heard from Kim in a few days and neither has Aly. She thinks she might be being temporarily ghosted for refusing to contact June for her, but I think that because I haven’t heard from her either she probably got caught. I’m sure she’ll find a way back on, though, within a week if even that.

Had this really bizarre dream where I was in my bedroom. It sort of looked like this bedroom even though it wasn’t. I sat on the floor at the far end of the room and pulled a couple of dolls off the nearby bed. I took hold of one of them and spread its legs and began to rub its crotch. I began to feel totally turned on and lay on my back. I was by the wall and the floor was cold even though it was carpeted so I knew it was cold outdoors. I became even hornier and woke up with my heart pounding as I was beginning to slide my pants down, totally turned on by this cheap plastic doll that didn’t seem much bigger than a Barbie.

Strange. Just strange.