Tom was sweet enough to come home right after work, instead of heading to do the grocery shopping. He said he was sorry I had to find Gizzy alone.

I put Gizzy in an empty coffee can and Tom put it in the dumpster. It’s not like I had him for years, or else I’d have had Tom bury him, which he offered to do.

Sometime soon, I’ll go pick out a new small critter, but I don’t know for sure if it’ll be a gerbil, a hamster, or a mouse.

I hope to hell this weekend is peaceful. That’s all I’d need is for them to throw their fucking noise at me be it music or whatever, on top of the not smoking, the losing Gizzy, and the fact that I’m now 114 pounds.

Of course, Tom never sent the city that letter about next door. I knew he wouldn’t, and even though they’ve been quieter for some strange reason, he should’ve at least gotten the address. He should’ve gotten that the day he verified that that was a city-owned house.

I talked to Andy earlier, who’s still afraid to get a job. He said he went to one restaurant that he believed would’ve hired him till Cocoa’s ruined it for him.

Andy and Michelle are going to the lesbo bar together. I’m glad Andy’s got someone to take my place in that department.

Andy’s just as amazed as I am that I’ve gone this long without smoking. It’s nice to be able to breathe, but I’m far from thrilled about gaining 6 pounds in the last month, and I still have cravings. They’re easing up a little, but they’re still there and I’m sure they always will be as long as I continue not to smoke.

Andy, who even said he never gives up (when it comes to getting a boyfriend) and who’s always been more optimistic than me, can’t believe Tom could believe that a mattress could bring a child into the world. He’s not as optimistic as Tom is, you see, but I explained to Andy that although it’s not the mattress itself that he thinks will bring a child into the world, but rather the closeness/normalcy of sleeping together, I agree his optimism is overkill. It’s a shame that as much of a genius as my husband is, he’s also this naïve, but again, I don’t think he’s really off in Never Never Land. I don’t think he believes what he’s saying. I think he’s pulling my leg and trying to tell me something that sounds great, but I know better. He says he disagrees, but I think that if you truly love someone, you can have normal sex with them full-time in a public bathroom stall. Sure, sex is harder to concentrate on when you’re sick, mad, sad, or worrying about something, but when the sex hasn’t started off with him being tired, hurt, mad, sad, sick, or worried - what’s the problem? Fear. Fear is the problem and he may or may not know it, but my husband’s way too intelligent to even think for a millisecond that this could be the answer to normal, full-time sex and a kid. Beds, environmental, and lifestyle changes may help, but they don’t make sex and babies. People do. People have had sex and conceived in public bathroom stalls, for fuck’s sake. But when one’s scared and the other’s sterile, then it becomes a rather difficult thing to do. No, an impossible thing to do. And God has yet to offer any help.

So, since I know real damn good and well that I won’t be conceiving a damn thing in December, but more weight unless I do something about it, I’ve got to try, as hard as it’ll be, to not eat. Just have liquids and vitamins.

Later...

I don’t believe it. Now the unavailable calls are coming at this late hour?! That, coupled with the fact that they called 3 times in a row one night and wouldn’t even leave a message, tells me it is someone one of us knows.