My alarm clock quit on me. That’s just one more thing to break, but I’m not surprised. It’s about time after all, cuz if I’m remembering correctly, that’s the alarm clock that woke me up to go to work at the Harley back in the mid-80s. So I put it in the guest room as a clock and put a different one in the bedroom.

The house makes weird sounds every now and then and I heard a sound earlier that I thought might’ve been an animal that bumped up against the back of the house, so I had Tom go out and check, but he found nothing. I guess it’s just a variation of those settling sounds.

Anyway, we drove two hours just for a two-minute appointment. All the doc did was tighten the bottom retainer, but the top one was fine. Next time won’t be a quickie cuz it’s cleaning time next time. On my way out, the receptionist gave me a carnation. It’s a Valentine’s thing they’re giving their patients. They had candy there too, and both Tom and I helped ourselves to a piece.

After leaving Mel’s, we went to Target and I picked out a valance for the pet room. This one’s called a scalloped valance, cuz it’s wavy. It’s white lace, and very pretty. It really completes and brightens up the room, giving it a touch of femininity as do the other valances I got.

We got new rechargeable batteries for the camera, and I got some pretty butterfly hair clips. I got 5-6 different pairs/colors. I took out Lollipop’s yellow/orange ribbons and replaced those with yellow butterflies. They look great.

Our last two stops were to get me some Chinese take-out and some of my favorite white chocolate caramel coffee at Circle K. He got cakes there. I jokingly said to him, “Better get some popcorn in case we get a room with a microwave!”

Yeah, it was just after 3:00. About the time we’d hit Circle K and load up on snacks to take to the hotel. Or to the trailer, for that matter. God, this road life we led for months already seems like a lifetime ago! It’s hard to believe we did it, and I still don’t believe I ever got on a schedule, let alone a schedule for six months! I’m still on one too, what with all we’ve got coming up. Unless things change, we’ve got a Palm Harbor rep coming out tomorrow, then I’ve supposedly got an appointment with my new doctor for my asthma on Thursday, then Saturday’s the day Mom, Mary and Dave might come see the place.

Tom got the two computers set up so they’re connected. So that he doesn’t have to wait till I get new cartridges, he’s gonna bring up the file I told him my story’s in and read a few chapters at a time as I write them.

I moved Jade out of the bedroom and put her sitting on a mini chest in the pet room, but since I didn’t want her to be too available for the rats to chew on when they’re out running around in there, I moved her to my office instead. Plus, I spend pretty much most of my time in there. I also re-wigged her. I yanked off her wig. Luckily, glue from a glue gun is easy to peel off. After I yanked it off, I put it on her head and pulled it down tight. The thing fits like a glove, so I didn’t bother to glue it down.

Although there was the usual excuse of some kind in bed today, it was one of the best sessions we ever had because it wasn’t so predictable, and the contact on my clit when we were screwing was the best ever. I thought it’d be the usual - I would spend forever doing him by hand, and he’d be on top of me for less than 60 seconds. Instead, he started rubbing against me, then we screwed. Well, I tried to, but he wouldn’t go inside. He tried to claim I was too dry and was moving away, but I knew that wasn’t so. He just couldn’t get into it. He was only semi-hard the whole time.

I asked Tom if he’d go to a doctor if he was one of those impudent guys who could never get hard. He said he’d go to a doctor, but that’s just hypothetically speaking. Meaning, it’s one thing to say that, but would he really do that? If you ask me - no he wouldn’t go to a doctor. He’d be just as shy, scared, and as embarrassed as he is to go to a doctor about his lack of cumming. Especially when he’s the one controlling it and when he wants it that way. He’d just live with it if he were impudent. He may not deny it if he were, but he’d be like - I’ll get hard. You’ll see. If you just don’t mention it or if you just do this and do that, I’ll get hard. Meanwhile, we’d never have sex in our lives. Not more than with hands or oral, that is. It’s a good thing I don’t want a kid, cuz I’d be really pissed to lose out on a shot at that, regardless of how much I know it’s not meant to be anyway, all because of his stubbornness and just because he’s got a touch of shyness. If he went to a doctor and was told there was nothing that could be done, that’d be different. That wouldn’t be his fault. Same thing with if he came out and told me he didn’t want a kid. But for a man to tell a woman who may want one that he wants one too, and then never does anything to help himself, is appalling.

The weekend engine-gunning has been very mild. Barely noticeable.

Another weekend to not take for granted. The peace and quiet of it, I mean, of course. It’s so nice not to have a bunch of wild blacks or Mexicans at arm’s length! I wonder if the H’s met the lovely neighbors and how they’re handling living with them (we both think they’ve met and as Tom pointed out, they seem like the type to mingle with neighbors). Well, I was the one with the noise curse on her, so my guess is that whether or not they met, they’ve quieted down since we moved. Either that or the H’s just don’t mind their antics. There can’t be a problem as far as them being bothered with noise, cuz wouldn’t they have us contacted to complain about it? Wouldn’t they be like - why didn’t you tell us, even though there’s not a damn thing they could do to us about it? Maybe not, though. I mean, it’s pretty damn amazing they didn’t contact us about the letter. They should’ve known who sent it. Whatever. It’s their lives and I’m not a part of it, thank God.

Yesterday, we finally got Jade assembled. Tom did most of the work. He has quite a talent for putting doll heads and eyelashes on. He saw it as a learning experience, but I saw it mostly as a bitch and I think I’ll get my dolls assembled from now on. She’s beautiful, even though I fucked up her wig. I guess I didn’t pull it down tight enough. It’s sort of bumpy in the back, but fortunately, it’s barely noticeable. I threw an old T-shirt on her and made it look like a sleep shirt. She looks better sitting, believe it or not, so I made room for her on my dresser and put a comb in her hand and it looks really good. It looks natural. She’s supposed to be a woman, but I think she looks more like a girl. She looks like she could be anywhere from age 10-15. Closer to 12, though.

It figures. It totally fucking figures! The delivery guy got here right on time and without having to call for directions or to be led in. As soon as I saw this, I knew that’d mean compensation. I knew that because he got here on time without a problem that would mean something would be broken or just go wrong somehow. I knew it because whenever we buy something, we always have to fucking get the broken one. Either that, or there’s just always a problem of some kind. This just goes to prove that old hexes followed us here and that life won’t be much different just because we moved out here. The washer works fine, but the dryer won’t start. Tom’s wondering if they wired the electrical wrong. Yeah, that’s something those Mexicans would do. I move away from having fuckers like them interfering with my life, yet I’m still affected by shitheads. I wish this dumb-ass pitiful excuse of a race would go back to Mexico where it belongs!

Later...

Finally, our horrible day is over! Bad things really do happen in threes (and my parents had three kids), because what I last wrote about was far from the end of it. So far everything’s going exactly as I vibed they would. We’re having to fix things in here just as much as we did in Phoenix. Even Tom reached his fill and made an appointment next Tuesday for a Palm Harbor to come out here. They’re nowhere near as stupid as Steven and Dan, but we’ve had it with having to fix these fucking idiot’s fuck-ups. We just want to get on with our lives. Not have to fix things that should’ve been done right in the first place. We probably could’ve fixed the dryer, but we shouldn’t have to. It’s their fucking job to supply us with an electrical box that works and the stupid Mexicans should’ve tested it out before releasing the house to us. Yeah, there’s no juice at all to this electrical box, according to Tom, who tested it out.

The territories we’re cursed in in life are just never going to go away. No matter where we live or what we do, we’re forever cursed. He’s gonna end up not having much more time than he did in Phoenix. Every time he gets a job done, that’s two more things he’s got to fix. How many more months are we gonna be in this house and continue to find things the lazy Mexicans fucked up on? These stupid illiterate Mexicans, as society calls them, don’t even know how to read or write. They’re God’s stupidest people. Why don’t they go to school for a while before they try building houses, the dumbasses!

Once again, God took what should’ve been a wonderful day and turned it into a nightmare. And if he didn’t, what did? Something sure as hell did. Can’t we just have something without having to pay for it like we do? As if $700 wasn’t enough of a payment for this washer and dryer! It’s like - leave us alone, God! Let us live our lives in peace for once. Can we ever go for a month in our lives without having to fix something? Without buying something broken?

So here are our next two crises: I went to wash a few more things since the washer worked fine the first time around because there’s plenty of space around here to hang lots of clothes, but the fucking thing quit filling with water before it reached its fill. Tom thought it might be sand clogged in the little screen at the end of the hose, but nope. A wire connected to the well pump shorted, thanks to shithead Dan. Tom fixed it, fortunately, but again, I was right when I said that that well would be a regular problem from the get-go. As soon as we can afford it, if people like Dennis will leave our wallet alone, we’ll get a backup water tank for our many well problems. That way we won’t have to be without water for a few days every month or two.

I asked Tom, what’s gonna break next, the dishwasher? He said if it does, we’ll just call them out here to fix it. Yeah, but we shouldn’t have to live that way, always having to fix things or call incompetent fools out to “fix” things. What’s this fuck gonna do anyway when it gets here next Tuesday, anyway? Forget to bring the globe we’re missing, and not fix the electrical box correctly? Or if it fixes it, will it break three other things while it’s at it? I’m not gonna allow them to fix the island trim, sand the guest room door, or paint the grease spots the fucking pigs smeared in a few areas and shit like that. I don’t trust them. They’ve disrupted our lives enough and fucked up enough. I’m just gonna give them a piece of my mind and let them know how pissed off I am that we have to fix all these things when we should be enjoying our new house. I knew it, though. I just knew it. But if I’d known our house was gonna be made by a pack of blacks, I’d have pushed to build our own house. You know what they say - if you want something done right, do it yourself.

Tom, who always handles these kinds of things better than I do, pointed out the good to all this and was glad we survived all we went through and came out of it okay.

The third and last thing that happened, although the day’s not yet over for me, is that I got stung by a bee in the neck in the house! Yeah, can you believe it? It scared the shit out of me and stung and burned like hell for a good 15 minutes or so, but now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d never know I was stung. It was so scary. After being outside, I was standing in his office talking to him while he sat at his computer when I suddenly felt something irritating me towards the left side of my neck. At first I thought it was an ant, but then it steadily got worse and worse and I knew no ant could inflict such pain and I flung my shirt off faster than I ever had before in my life screaming “Something’s in my shirt!”

Tom, thank God, got the stinger out with tweezers in no time at all, without causing any more stinging and burning. It sure was wild, but I knew I wasn’t gonna die or anything like that. He went looking for the bee sting and snake bite first aid kit, but couldn’t find it. I found it later, but it wasn’t needed anyhow. I simply put some Cortisone on it and took lots of Ibuprofen. What was weird about the whole thing, though, is that neither of us ever heard, saw, or felt the bee. We looked around the house afterward to see if we could see a dead bee, but nope. It must’ve quietly sat on my hair as I entered the house, then crept down just under my shirt collar before stinging me. Tom said that the stinger’s small, so you don’t really feel it much. It’s the poison you feel as the venom seeps out of the stinger. He said it’s possible it could’ve stung me and taken off to die a few seconds before I even knew I was stung. So, this is the second time in my life I got stung. This was a regular bee that stung me, cuz after a regular bee stings you, its stinger falls out and the bee dies. A yellow jacket can keep stinging you over and over. That’s what I got stung by at the beach when I was around ten. I was sitting on the couch in my bathing suit being chewed out by Dureen for God only knows what, when I thought I had an itch on my back. I reached around to scratch it and got stung on the finger.

Tom suggested we screen the pool too, as well as our future spa. We’ll start with an Arizona room and expand from there. Great! No more swimming in fear! I hated how I lost so many days to swimming in Phoenix when he wasn’t around all because of my fear of bees. Why waste the money being too scared to swim by myself? Even with him could get scary at times when there were so many fucking bees at once. They’re just too damn brave. They’re actually curious about people, but then as soon as you make a move - they’ve got you.

I was sitting thinking about how we should bitch to Mary about our horrible day just like we did when Dan was ruining our lives and making us miserable, then Tom came out and suggested it, too. So we did. Also, we’ve agreed to have them over next weekend, as long as nothing comes up with them.

Before all this happened, Melanie called. I was surprised to be called long-distance. I thought they’d mail me an appointment reminder like last time. She had knee surgery. She said something about them taking her kneecap off. Oh, God! How excruciating that must’ve been! I don’t know the details about why she had to have all this done. I didn’t want to keep her on the phone forever.

Remember how I mentioned the house rumbling and vibrating me awake? Well, this still happens every now and then, although I’ve been awake when it usually happens. It hasn’t woken me up since I last said it did a week or two ago. Today Tom got to hear it for himself for the first time. It happened at around 11 AM in the utility area, and then an hour later, I could feel it in the bedroom while he felt it down in the utility area. These rooms are at opposite ends of the house. Tom’s not sure what it is but said it felt like a huge truck going by. No way. I can’t imagine the house vibrating like that unless a train ran a few feet away, and besides, I could never see any trucks going by during these rumbles. All you hear when a truck goes by is its engine, but you never feel it. It never shakes the house. I told Tom I thought it was the house settling, but wondered if we could be on top of some ancient burial site, although I doubt it. He too, said it’s unlikely, cuz people long ago lived near water. Even if there were fossils under the house, why should the spirit of those who lived in the bodies be mad at us? They’re done with their bodies. Their bodies are dead. They don’t need them anymore. Now, they’d be just spirits in the sky or something like that. But then I discovered the salt shaker had fallen off the top back part of the stove and onto a burner. Classic poltergeist activity. Tom said it simply vibrated off. That’s a lot of vibration! I wonder how long these rumbling spells will continue and how many times they’ll end up waking me up. What? Is God up there saying to himself, “Ha! If she thinks she’s gonna sleep out here regularly, wait till I shake her awake every now and then.” What is this? Just because he knows stereos don’t go banging by here he’s got to shake me awake instead? Is he that determined to get to me in the sleep department? That’s desperate. Real fucking desperate. Why doesn’t he just have me have a kid then? Then I’ll really never get any sleep. It’ll be worse than the NHA was. Well, at least I know I don’t have to worry about him going that far and sticking a kid on me. I still don’t get why he paired me up with a virtually cumless dick, though. The only regimen I ever needed against pregnancy was a hysterectomy. Not forced safe sex.

Dan hasn’t begun his engine-gunning spurts today. Yet. He obviously went to work today or was out somewhere because neither of us has heard a sound, but once he gets in, I’m sure I’ll hear from him then.

Other than that, it’s so peaceful and quiet 99.99999% of the time. I love it.

Tom, who’s clearing out the shed so he can clear out the utility area for our washer/dryer which is due tomorrow, came in the house giggling, saying he had great news. He found the cranks that open the old bedroom windows. Should he call the H’s and tell them? Hee, hee! Yes, I remember the day they were doing the inspection and one of the inspectors was telling me the windows should have cranks. I was worried for a minute there that this would cause the H’s to back out on us.

Later...

And we found yet another thing those stupid cocks did. The idiots drilled a hole in the floor for the dryer to vent, yet it doesn’t go anywhere. Directly below it is 2-3 feet of insulation. Did the stupid shits expect us to drill a hole through the stuff and vent it under the house? Why couldn’t they have drilled a hole in the exterior wall for it? Stupid, stupid shits. So now that’s just one more job that Tom has to do. At least the good part of it is that we got the utility area all cleaned out. It had been caked with dirt, but Tom showed me that Spic & Span would clean it really well. I was surprised. I thought I’d have to scrub the shit over and over again with Brillo. It’s nice finally having that floor cleaned so I no longer have to tiptoe through dirt and sand to use the bathroom down there. It’s been vacuumed, mopped, and cleared out and is now ready for our new washer and dryer! Oh, I’m gonna love having a large capacity washer/dryer so I can do big things like our comforter! And I’m gonna love being able to wash and dry at the same time.

Dan took a day off from engine-gunning. I really appreciate that seeing that the weekend is less than a couple of days away. Of course, as I’ve learned, he could play engine any day of the week, but on weekends he tends to get more into it.

I haven’t written much over the last few days in my journal or on my story because I was tied up doing other things.

Last Sunday, as well as Saturday, Dan did a little bit of engine-gunning in spurts, and it makes me wonder if I’m in for that every weekend he’s here. I told you things would slowly pick up in noise once we got into the house, although that’s nothing compared to the quietest days in Phoenix.

I went through all the photo albums and scanned the pictures I wanted on the computer. Back when that virus fucked up my computer, I lost those that I had scanned.

Tom said he met up with Dennis at work and that he said he was sorry. It’s too late. He already charged us the outrageous amount he charged us to use a functional but dumpy old trailer that otherwise would’ve just sat in his yard, and he hasn’t changed the amount he wants. So how is he sorry? He still used us and our situation as an opportunity to be a greedy SOB.

Yesterday poor Tom went through a horrid ordeal on the phone with Cigna. Now they’re fucked up, too. Every single business is fucked up. No one is competent in this world. It makes me wonder how we came to have sophisticated things like computers when the world is so stupid.

He called the doctor Cigna assigned to us as our regular doctor but then their office said they weren’t taking new patients. Then Tom called Cigna back who referred him to this number and then to that number. Meanwhile, he was getting nowhere. Finally, after two hours, he got to make an appointment with the doctor after all. Question is - will the incompetent fucks screw up the paperwork on that too, and tell me I was never scheduled for an appointment? I wouldn’t put it past them. The office is in Sun Lakes, so hopefully there won’t be too many wild kids. And hopefully they won’t make me wait an hour, either.

Anyway, it’s sickening what the world’s come to when it comes to doctors. It used to be you called their office, got a live person, and made an appointment. Now, it can be an all-day ordeal just to make a doctor’s appointment. You have to go through a maze of machines and contradictory, stupid people. This is part of why I didn’t continue with the invitro. No one would talk to me. And when they would, it was only to refer me to someone else, then to someone else, while one person would say one thing and another would say something totally different.

Later...

Dan, will you shut the fuck up! I’m getting so sick of him and his engine-gunning. Besides, shouldn’t he be at work in the middle of a weekday afternoon? Or do people who drive tractors only work part-time? And what’s he gonna do now? Gun these fucking engines every day? I never would’ve guessed that Dan would be an annoyance. I’d have guessed on the renters first, next door second.

Tom asked me if I heard the music when he came in. No, I didn’t, fortunately. He said it was soft country music that could’ve been coming from Dan’s, the people past Dan’s, or the renters. Said he couldn’t be sure with the wind. It’s Dan, I thought right away. Then shortly afterward, he started with the engine gunning, so I obviously guessed right. He was home.

Anyway, Tom filed our taxes by phone and is unwinding with the TV now before hitting the sack.

If there were only these two choices, I’d rather work on my story with my music going in the background than vroom, vroom! So I started up a CD and now I’ll go see if I can work on my story.

Later...

Shut uuuuuuup, you mother-fucking cock! Yeah, it just started gunning again. It does this every 2-3 hours and I’m getting pissed here. I’m really getting pissed. I’m supposed to be able to read in peace out here if I want to, but no. This guy’s gotta make a racket with his fucking engines. This is no one-time engine problem he’s been fixing, either. I just know it. This is a regular thing it’ll do whenever it’s home. God, get this fuck out of here to Indiana and let me live in peace! What’s next, huh? What comes after this? Louder music that I can hear in here? Well, maybe it’ll go to work tomorrow and maybe when it comes home it won’t be in the mood to play engine. Maybe it’ll do something else with its time.

Later...

Our little engine-gunner quit pretty much as soon as he started. As I said, he does this in spurts, so it could be worse. He could be doing it for hours non-stop in which case I’d get a gun and shoot the fucker. But are we gonna be in for another spurt at 6:00? We’ll see, but I’d think it’d be a little too windy to be outside. It’s been super windy. You can see dust flying in the wind. There’s almost as much dust as a car kicks up. The wind chimes I have by all three doors are going off and they sound pretty. Actually, I can only hear the back and side door chimes, because the wind is going from back to front. When will it ever rain, though?

Later...

Making good progress with the story. I’m trying not to be predictable. I want the reader to be surprised by all the different curveballs I throw into the story.

Friday or Saturday Paula should get my manila envelope filled with the written pages I tore out of my big blue book to type up with the cover that changes pictures (I couldn’t rebind that cover after I printed out the lime green pages I printed out, so I bound just the pages). That is, only the ones I’d allow her to read. Hope she reads it and doesn’t let all my writing go to waste, but when I look back at the blacks and Mexicans, who obviously didn’t read my mail, you never know. It’s up to her, though. In most cases, I wouldn’t want someone to read something of mine if they didn’t want to. I think she will, though.

It’s funny just thinking of how those personal pages I wouldn’t send her are sitting under someone’s bed at the hotel. I wonder how many years that, and the note I slipped under the stove in Phoenix, will sit undiscovered.

As long as Teresa got my letter OK, I was right about her not contacting me. I hope she did get the letter and has a great life. She was a really nice, helpful, supportive person.

I forgot to mention another thing that happened last weekend that took me by surprise. We had a sales call. I couldn’t believe it. I was like, a sales call? Out here? Some cock came by with a freezer full of meat from a farm. God only knows just how poisonous the meat was, too. I wonder how often these kinds of people will come around. We’ll see, but if I have to, I could always put a sign up and then deal with those who refuse to read it.

I downloaded this really cool thing off the web that makes water within wallpaper pictures ripple and come to life. It’s so cool! The catch is, though, that once you set the waves, it works on all your pictures, even waterless pictures, till you shut it off. So, I’ve got my wallpaper changer turned off while I’m using the ripple effect in a picture with water in it which it was meant to be used for.

I’m done dieting for good this time. Always being hungry and sluggish is no way to live. I’d rather look like shit than feel like shit. Besides, it’s not my body to decide what to do with. Never has been, never will be. It’s God’s body. He created me to his own liking, and just like I have no rights to my reproductive system, I have no rights to my weight, either. I just don’t have what it takes to starve and in this day and age, that’s the only way I could possibly lose weight. I need to stop depriving my body of the food it needs. People get hungry for a reason and again, I’m 34 now. I’m supposed to be a bit plump.

Fortunately, Dan didn’t become too much of a nuisance yesterday. Tom said he could see the hood open on one of his junk trucks, and that he had a radio blaring. He said it was too soft to make out what kind of music it was but could tell that at the same time it had to have been blasting. I never heard a thing in here. Dan’s behavior makes me wonder if he grew up in the city. No doubt that people love to blast music, work on cars, and gun engines there.

Tom kept his promise and got his office and the guest room organized. It’s still a little more cluttered than I’d like, but acceptable enough. He set up his old air bed in the guest room, but it leaks. That figures, huh? He’s got stuff to patch it with, but he just can’t find where it’s leaking.

He got a couple of tables that I’ve put in the living room and set up the mice the way I had them in Phoenix. I missed doing this. I definitely need more mice to fill up all the space, though. So far, only Oreo climbed up to higher levels and back down. Butter Rum and Mocha have remained downstairs.

Tom also got a filter for the house which was cheaper than he thought it’d be. No more sandy baths!

He’s been keeping his word and not procrastinating since being here. The only thing he said that was bullshit was about how he was suddenly gonna change into a whole new person and cum regularly, but I knew better.

Once we get the project room tables, the exercise machine, and the guest room set up, I can begin my photo shoot of the house. Although, it may be quite a while before we get a bed and nightstand in the guest room, so I’ll probably just shoot it as it is, so I can get the pictures off to Dureen, Art, and Tammy and be done with them for a year or two, or until whenever the hell I feel like sending them an updating letter. I still have no desire to have them back in my life. Not after all the years of shit they’ve dumped upon me. Things would be OK for a while, then they’d only return to the same old cycle of shit.

In a couple of hours or so, we’ll be having our usual predictable, boring, cumless sex, but oh well. I just go through the motions for his sake to keep him as happy and as satisfied as he is sexually.

Later...

Another typical moment in bed. He couldn’t get in there and I asked him if I was too dry, but he said he was too soft. I should’ve guessed he’d have some sort of problem today what with my still being too close to mid-cycle. He still swears that he’s not turned off by me in bed, not afraid of my conceiving, and that if I give him time in the new environment, we’ll end up screwing more often since there’s less to do here and we’re less stressed out, and therefore, he’ll get off more often.

Sounds like just another lame excuse to me to try to cover for his own fears and lack of interest. Most of the time he just doesn’t seem into it and this is what helps dampen my appetite. Yes, we have been screwing more often, but he’ll never get off much more than he has been. He’ll still be right where he is in a year. And in a few years. And in a decade. I just don’t see why we have to go through these bullshit motions if he’s not into it.

The moon, which seems to be bigger out here in Arizona, has been pretty neat to see through the skylight at night. Especially when it’s full. Full moons are so bright out here that the bedroom looks like it’s either the crack of dawn or the final stages of dusk.

When I got up Tom was already gone. He’s still hunting for a place that’ll deliver a washer and dryer to us sooner than February 1st or 9th as the Phoenix area says. This time, he’s heading to Casa Grande. For now, we’re doing weekly laundry and garbage dumps at Mary’s.

Dan’s been driving me nuts with the engine-gunning spurts. Is this going to go on all day? And is this going to be a regular weekend event around here? What is this cock doing? Tom said he said he does what Gravity does and drives a tractor. It sounds like a huge engine, but I can’t see any tractors over there. Thank God this stupid fuck goes to Indiana every summer. That’ll give me a break from this shit. It isn’t just the weekends, although it’s mostly the weekends. I heard it for a few minutes during the week, too. Shut up, Dan! This is the Hidden Valley area of Maricopa. Get it? Hidden Valley. It means you keep your noise and your shit to yourself. We don’t want to know you exist out here.

Another Friday night of not having to worry about other people’s selfish, rude antics disrupting my life! No stress, no nothing. Just plain old happiness.

Yesterday, the strangest sound woke me up. We still don’t know what it was, but I have a theory. I awoke at 8:30, a half-hour before my alarm was set to go off, to a loud bang that rumbled through the house and vibrated me awake. It woke me right up the first time, then it happened again right after it woke me. When I saw it was too early for Tom to be in, I wondered if someone may have broken into the house, so I flung the bedroom door open, expecting to come face to face with someone other than Tom, but I saw no one. I ran and checked all the rooms and closets, but still, there was no one. Tom asked me if it could’ve been a water tank or something loud like that going next door, but no way. It was definitely coming from within the house itself. It sounded like something crashed to the floor which would rumble throughout the house. When Tom was shuffling heavy stuff around his office one day while I was in the bedroom, I could feel the vibration in there. The only thing I can think of was that it was the house settling. Especially amongst the floorboards. There was nothing else going on nearby that I could see.

I had the windows open today to air the place out, and it was so nice to be able to enjoy such a pleasant breeze without opening the window up to a world of chaotic noise. It was just as peaceful with the windows open. The only thing I hear every now and then is gunshots and engine-gunning. I love it here. For once I am truly home. God, please don’t take our home and our peace away from us! Keep the city in the city! Let us stay here forever and ever! Of course, it’s still scary to think - what are we gonna do when we get too old to drive and get around well since we’re so far out? What happens when I can’t clean the place very well? Will we end up all alone in some state-run nursing home? I try not to think of something that’s still too far away, but it’s hard not to sometimes.

We both still feel rather shocked and annoyed that Dennis wanted so much money and so fast, but in the end, it actually worked out for the better, and old Dennis may have done us a favor after all. We don’t have to pay $500 of the $1,000 back but had he agreed for us to give him a few hundred dollars a month, we would be able to pay that on our own and would’ve ended up paying the whole $1,000 ourselves. But with him wanting $500 this month and the rest next month, we only end up paying him $500. Perhaps this is a selfish way to look at it, but we got this from a woman who not only once used us for a good four or five thousand dollars after Dad died (I believe Ma used Dad’s death as an excuse to use Tom), but who can’t have too many more years to live if even that. Because of this, it’s easy to feel OK about the money she gave us. Grateful, but not guilty.

When Tom was testing out the new net thing on my computer and showing me how to get into it, he went to John Saul’s site and it turns out he just released a book and is going to be releasing another one in June. The site had the prologue and the first chapter, and man, I’ll tell you, he is not the writer he used to be. The whole fucking prologue was nothing but childbirth. I’m so sick of that subject! It’s no wonder the desire to have my own child wore off. Why is this world so obsessed with the subject? The same old same old gets old. The part of the book that wasn’t childbirth was utterly boring. I don’t expect his June book will be any better.

Tom got a sticker-dissolving cleaner that works great. I got the ugly stickers off of the tub, toilets, and windows. He also got a filter for the well. Thank God! We sure do need that. I haven’t taken a bath lately cuz of all the sand that comes out. I’m hoping we can replace the bathroom sink faucets real soon too, cuz they’re cheap pieces of shit. This doesn’t have an aerator you can take off like the kitchen sink, tubs and showers do, so it’s all clogged up with sand and all you get is a little trickle of water. There’s no pressure at all. We need to get a second pressure tank, too. We’re gonna replace the bathroom faucets which I hate, with the single lever kind we got in Phoenix.

He got a paper shredder for things with credit card numbers and it’s so cool. The animals love it. The rats don’t really care for shredded paper, but the mice love to burrow in it and the pig loves to chew on it. Right now, the rat’s chew toy of choice is an old hair bubble of mine I cut off its elastic.

Yesterday Lisa turned 17. I hope she’s doing OK. God, do I ever hope so! I’m just afraid that she too, has a long wait for happiness. Better later than never, I guess.

Later...

I just called Tammy’s, blocking our number out first, in the hopes that Lisa would answer, but Tammy did so I hung right up. I miss Lisa so much! I wish to hell we never became as close as we did. It’d make things a whole lot easier. Perhaps I shouldn’t be bothering, anyway. Trying to get to Lisa could very well be asking to have an old can of worms opened. Not that I couldn’t shut that can, but I just don’t want to deal with these people she’s connected to. I don’t want to hear about them, I don’t want to know about them. I’m done with them. I’ve been done with them and their bullshit. All I’ll ever do from here on out is drop them a quick line every year or so (without our address and number), but I doubt if I’ll ever do that.

And today I’m 119 pounds.

I still never see any lights on at night in any of the rentals. In fact, last night, even the usual outside light wasn’t on. I still believe they’ll be a problem once it gets more built up back there.

It’s hard to believe we’ve only had a two-hour drizzle spell since late August-early September! Makes me wonder if it’ll ever rain again here.

Later...

The weather’s warmed up to the point where it’s getting to be nearly 80º in here by the time 4:00 rolls around. We’re looking at using the AC soon for sure. I’ve got the heat set to come on at 70º, but it may not even come on before the crack of dawn when it’s the coldest like it’s been doing.

Tom’s mom gave us a check for not $500, but $750! I could hug that woman to death! Speaking of that, she’s nowhere near it, according to Tom. He says she’s doing so unusually well, including her blood count, that the doctor doesn’t want to see her for four months. He said all he’s gonna do is take her to get her toenails trimmed and fix Mary’s printer. No problem. They’ve done so much for us what with helping us with money and letting us get water there and use her washer and dryer that Tom can work over there for weeks if he wants to. And there I was thinking that things would go wrong with her after we got settled in the house. Maybe my vibes of her dying around her 77th birthday will be wrong. Maybe she’ll surprise us all, including the doctors, and live for a few more years.

Also, to my utter amazement, Steven kept his word and sent us the check for the money for a new washer/dryer. I really thought he was gonna stall and stall and stall.

I got our new address labels too, which are boring compared to what I usually get. I didn’t want to order anything too plain, though, either. They consist of five different butterfly pictures. All drawings of course. Not actual photos. I got these because I don’t do letters a lot anymore, and they’re just mostly gonna get stuck on bills. It’s still faster and more convenient for us to slap on stickers, rather than write out our return address.

I’m stealing seven books from the Double Day book club since Tom plans on stealing Internet access, or something that has to do with the satellite, but I’m sure he’ll do everything he can to talk me out of it, insisting that it’s far more dangerous to get caught than it is with what he intends to do. I know this isn’t true, though, since I’ve done this before, but if he’s gonna get too overly paranoid, I won’t bother to have him mail the card. It’s in a bogus name, of course, addressed to our PO Box.

We didn’t end up screwing last night. I guess both of our subconscious fears sex, even though one of us knows we have nothing to worry about anyway. I just couldn’t get in the mood. Not after a discussion of how strapped we’re gonna be for the next few months, thanks to fucking assholes like Steven, Dan, and Dennis. I’m so sick of others interfering with our plans and finances! Will I ever escape other people’s control? Anyway, he took advantage of my not being in the mood as a great opportunity to escape something he’d rather not do and decided to nap till it was time to go to work. He asked if I was mad at him because he said we’d get together. No, I wasn’t mad. We can screw some other time when he’s more comfortable. From here on out, though, I’m not going to tell him when I’ve got my period, so he doesn’t have to needlessly worry about something that’s not medically possible in the first place. Although, he may worry more often if he doesn’t know where I am in my cycle. If he knew I just finished my period, for example, he’d at least be able to know he had some time there to safely let go if he wanted to.

He’s been doing a good job of getting his stuff organized which he has in his office and the guest room. I didn’t think he’d work this fast, but this doesn’t mean he won’t take to trashing at times. It’s what he’s used to and what he grew up with. He likes clutter strewn about. That’d be fine for his office if it wouldn’t hinder my dusting and vacuuming, but it does, and I want to keep my record going here. Notice how long it’s been since I’ve had an all-day allergy attack? I want to keep it this way if I can help it!

We’ve agreed that I’d give him the chapters I complete during the week for him to read over the weekends. So far, he’s been into it and that’s pretty flattering. I didn’t have to beg him to read what I wrote. He did it on his own. He said that the first time around he wants to just read it, then the second time he’ll critique it in more detail.

I guess we’re gonna be having another round of boring, predictable sex in a little while. After he’s done some more work in his office, I guess, but you know him. He likes to put sex off till the last minute when he’s most tired.

He went to Casa Grande today to get a CD for Internet access. It’s called Cybertrails. We can’t get AOL out here because they don’t have a local number here. That’s fine with me. I hated how AOL harassed me every day with junk mail.

I sent Evie a letter thanking her for our Christmas gifts and letting her know that I’d contact her as soon as I could.

Teresa will be getting a letter from me, too. Although I enclosed our address and number, I don’t expect to hear from her and I told her it’s OK if she doesn’t write back or call me cuz of how remote I am. I just wanted to thank her, I told her, for being so nice to us. I also enclosed some jokes I had saved. I hope I’m right about her not contacting me since it’d be a pain in the ass to have a friend in the city, but if I thought she might, I wouldn’t have enclosed the address and number.

I think about giving our number to Paula at times, but I don’t want the daily calls from her (whenever she happens to have a phone, that is). When I moved, I wanted to get away from Andy’s and Paula’s constant calls, not just naughty blacks and filthy Mexicans and polluted air and desperate crowds.

I’m back down to 121 pounds. Oh, goody. Then I can go right back up to 124 pounds when I get stuck tomorrow.

Katie did die. I found her earlier and Tom buried her. She will be missed.

We screwed earlier too, and as expected, he didn’t cum. I’m mid-cycle and it isn’t April. April’s when he’ll cum again. I’ll be giving him another hard-on tomorrow too, but not before he goes down on me. It’s been a while since I’ve cum by him and I think it’s about time I did. I like to take care of myself most of the time, but every now and then it’s nice to let him do the work for a change. Today he claimed to have gotten out of breath cuz he was oh so excited. Then he’s in pretty serious shit shape. This not being able to cum cuz of being so excited bullshit’s got to go. He uses this line on me every now and then and anyone else that heard that would say that’s crazy, too. That’s like saying you’re too thirsty for a drink or too cold for a coat. It’s a lame, bullshit excuse, and again, I’m just as happy that he doesn’t cum. It’s a free, side-effect-free source of birth control, even if I am sterile anyhow. But the fucking excuses are so old and so obvious that they’re BS! And I’m sick of having to do him by hand for fifteen minutes and only screwing for two. He’s so lazy and out of shape when it comes to sex, not to mention scared shitless of something that cannot possibly happen in the first place. It would’ve happened by now if it could. He claims that we can now finally have more sex, which is a crock, whether or not that’s what I wanted. Oh, we will in the beginning, but then he’ll go back to favoring the TV over sex. And God will also help interfere with our sex lives by having things come up that he has to fix, etc.

I thought I cleared the trailer out completely, but obviously I didn’t. I left two pairs of shorts that I know of in the trailer. Makes me wonder what else I left in it. I’m too fucking fat for the rest of my shorts to fit comfortably, so now I’m forced to work harder on these hopeless diets. I tell you - there is no such thing as a “diet.” You either eat or you don’t. It’s the same with the cigarettes. I’ll try cutting down to a few 150-calorie meal bars a day since I’m too much of a wimp to quit food altogether, so I can still have essential vitamins and minerals. Dieting by having the recommended 1000 calories a day doesn’t do me a damn bit of good anyway. Especially when I get stuck for a day or two. That only ends up undoing any weight I may have lost and causes me to go back and forth and back and forth, rather than slowly descend in weight.

Well, Dan’s getting on my nerves now, so I threw my stereo on. Figures, huh? Other than that, though, it’s been dead quiet. What he’s doing is today and yesterday he sat there gunning a loud engine on some old truck or something like that for 10-15 minutes. What is it with people sitting and gunning engines in this state? Anyway, that’s a far cry better than bass thumping at thunderous volumes that not even rock bands play at 3’ from the house, but I wonder if this is going to be a daily routine of his now, even though it doesn’t seem to last too long.

I can’t believe I once said that this master bedroom was smaller than the one in Phoenix when it’s the other way around. It’s almost as wide, but it’s certainly longer.

Our phone was installed on Friday. We just got one line. Fortunately, they have voice messaging out here. I want that and Caller ID. He’s been running wires and installing phone jacks in our offices and the living room. He accidentally cut a wire in the wall to a plug in his office and the guest room, so that’s one more thing he’ll have to fix.

I got new ink cartridges the other day, so I decorated the walls with some of the pictures I printed out of animals and scenery.

Dennis and his wife should be here anytime now to pick up the trailer.

We went out hunting for a washer and dryer and ended up stopping at Heilig-Meyers where we were given back $100 for the damaged tables I had returned. We saw one of the guys who delivered the living room set and chatted with him for a few minutes, then took the $100 we were given and bought another 3-table set for that price. They’re weird, yet nice looking and I got all three to fit in the den just fine. I have the couch in front of the windows with the two smaller tables on each side. On the other side of the small tables are the couch and loveseat. The bigger, longer table is in front of the couch. They’re glass with black frames. The bottom shelves are net-like, rather than solid. I put a couple of dolls and my white carnations under the big one and it looks really cool. I put my little palm tree Tom’s mom gave me under one of the smaller ones and a black and white stuffed rabbit that matches nicely under the other.

The last time we had sex, Tom decided to play games again. It was sooo boring, too. First I was doing him by hand for what seemed like forever, and then he was too soft to go in me so he had me do him some more, saying he wasn’t quite ready and jumped the gun (but what it really was was a case of him not being able to get hard enough. Or not wanting to). What burned me up was that look of pure pleasure on his face as he got off of me and had me do him some more till he had me stop and we quit altogether. That’s just not normal! Any normal man would be totally frustrated. But not him. He loved every minute of it, and it was so obvious that he planned it all out. Why does he do this? Why does he get off on turning me off? I’m already dreading the next time we screw. Well, it’s not that I actually dread it, I just don’t want to bother. It’s gonna be so damn boring and predictable and I’m just so sick of it. I find myself making more and more excuses to get out of sex and I really believe that someday, although it may take 5-10 years, we won’t be having sex at all.

Later...

Dennis came and got his trailer today, but he came alone. He got a little opportunity-happy, too. We figured he’d round the $1300 we owed him to an even $1000, but we didn’t know he’d want the money so fast. First he wanted it all today, then said he didn’t want to make things hard for us, so he agreed to take $500 now and the rest next week. Tom said he’d talk to Ma about it and I’m sure she’ll give him the money. Sometimes I don’t know what we’d do without that woman despite the many complaints I’ve had about her. It makes me wonder what we’ll do when she’s gone. What if we need a few hundred bucks or more in a hurry after she’s gone? She offered money for the two new tires Tom had to get last week, but he had already gotten them, so it’s not like she’s not willing to help us out.

Tom said he noticed that next door was building an addition at the side of their house as he was going out to go grocery shopping. And I didn’t hear a thing! Although, if I were sitting in the den and had the rock tumbler turned off, I might’ve faintly been able to hear the hammering, but again, thank God it wasn’t 3’ away! He wasn’t sure what the addition was. It could be a garage, he said.

Tomorrow’s MLK Day and thank God I don’t have to worry about that either! Now that we’re settled in the house, holidays won’t be a part of our lives anymore. Not in a bad way. Just in a good way. They used to bring nothing but stress and trouble, for the most part, but now we can enjoy having more time together and concentrate on that alone without having to worry about what others are gonna do and what shit they’re gonna force us to listen to and deal with. No distractions. That’s how I like it. God only knows why I once wanted a kid and to give all that peace and freedom up. And money. We’re gonna be broke for the next several months and since we know damn well how hard it can be sometimes for two people to get by, imagine if there were more of us? That’s a scary thought.

Katie appeared to be dying starting about four days ago, but I don’t know. One minute it looks like she’s gonna die any second, the next she’s out and about eating. She’s very weak, though, and hasn’t wheeled, so she’s still not right. She is old, after all, and I don’t expect her to be around much longer.

Tom went to bed earlier today to catch up on his sleep so we can “get together” tonight. And do what? Get him hard and me bored? I like the actual screwing part of it, even if I can’t cum that way, but doing him by hand can get boring when I have to go on and on and do it for long periods of time. Despite the fact that I don’t want a child and that I know he’s doing what he wants to do, I still can’t help but feel like I’m not good enough in bed. I still feel inadequate even though he doesn’t want to cum. Wouldn’t most people whose partner never came feel that way? He’s an exception, though. My not cumming doesn’t bother him. Then again, he would appear not bothered by it after all, cuz he wants to be left alone to be the way he is. Tom’s not your typical person who practices what he preaches. If he wants to be accepted for not cumming, he’ll accept you for not cumming, too. The whole thing still makes me feel - well - weird. I’ve been sexually hexed all my life and I always will be, so I try to just accept that and the fact that nothing will change with that, and not let it get to me. If it weren’t Tom’s fear of cumming, it’d be somebody else’s wanting sex every other minute. If it weren’t their wanting sex every other minute, it’d be someone who couldn’t even get excited, and so on and so forth. I’ve had premature shooting dicks, peanut-size dicks with cum that smelled like bleach so bad it was nauseating, women that smothered me with sex every other minute, etc. So why not add the cumless guy to the picture, huh? If there had been another guy after Tom he would’ve been impudent, or if there’d been another woman she’d have been frigid. After that would’ve been some sick twist wanting me to beat them with whips and chains while I ran around the bedroom chanting how bad they were. Anyway, I’ll just go through the predictable motions in bed tonight, make him happy, give him what he wants, the way he wants it, and get it over with. At least I get my way out of bed most of the time.

Tom dumped the shit tank and rinsed out the tanks in the trailer yesterday. He said that while he was out there, it became apparent that next door had some kind of car or house problem. All I could hear from my office was an engine revving, but I couldn’t hear them talking to each other like he said he could hear from outside. That’s one hell of an insulated house we’ve got! Also, being more than a few feet away from each other helps, too. Everything that went on over there would’ve been heard loud and clear as if we were a part of it, had it been next to the Phoenix house.

That cock that took us on a tour of the factory was wrong when he told us the “marriage line,” where the two halves peak, is 108” high. That’d be 9’, and I knew it was higher than that. Sure enough, in the papers with all the warranties, info, etc., is a layout saying it’s 114” which is 10’ high. That looks more like it. The lowest point is 7’.

Later...

Yesterday I stuck to the Slim-Fast diet like glue, making sure not to go over 1000 calories. Due to doing this, I woke up a couple of pounds lighter. However, I haven’t been able to shit today, so any amount of dieting I do will be a waste, cuz not shitting will just set my weight back to where it was. How can I get my body to diet and still shit?! Why does my body rebel against dieting?

You don’t know how much I love this house! I love this house and I love the peace and quiet! I love not having to have a fan or music on to drown out the noise unless I want them on. There’s no barking, no music, no nothing. I’m determined to enjoy every minute of it because I know that nothing stays the same forever. I’m still sure that the renters will become a problem at some point, and that it may get a little noisier as the weather warms up. Especially at dusk. It may take a hundred years, but it’s sad to know that the fate of this land is to no doubt become a subdivision similar to what we were in in Phoenix. There may not be 60 houses on our land, but there’ll be at least 30 for sure. What a sad thought to know that this peaceful, beautiful piece of land will someday be trashed and filled with hundreds of barking dogs, hundreds of screaming kids, dozens of selfish, noisy freeloaders, and God only knows what else. Oh well, I try not to let myself be saddened by the future which I can’t prevent from happening anyway. I just hope this doesn’t happen in our lifetime, cuz as it is, there should be a major difference out here in just 10 years. Within 10 years, maybe even just 5, I expect to see a house across the street and to our right. Maybe even 10 houses per lot, which would be 20 houses. Oh well again. There’s no sense in worrying about it till it happens. For now, I’m gonna enjoy every moment of peace till God feels it’s time to take that away from us and forcefully throw us back into the mainstream once again.

I’m still on a schedule, but not a highly structured one. I still want to be available during the day in case we need to go anywhere together or the cops feel like badgering me, but so far, I’m shocked and pleased to say that no one’s subpoenaed me.

I did a little cleaning today. I’ve been cleaning something or another every day, cuz I’m determined to keep up on this house from the get-go. I don’t want months and months of dust to accumulate on things, although, not everything will be dusted weekly. I’m not climbing up every week to dust the dolls that are up on top of the cabinets. I’ve decided that every Monday I’ll do the animals, every Tuesday I’ll vacuum/dust the rooms to the right of the kitchen (the kitchen’s in the middle of the house), and every Wednesday I’ll vacuum/dust the rooms to the left of the kitchen, every Thursday I’ll do the kitchen and baths, and every Friday I’ll do laundry. That is when we get a washer and dryer in two or three months. For now, we’ll be doing it whenever we can at the hotel, and also at Laundromats when we have a lot of stuff that could use more than one washer/dryer. I’m not going to bother drying clothes for the most part. They can be hung around the house to dry. I’ll just focus on getting them washed.

We went to the hotel on Monday, but Teresa wasn’t there. No one spoke to me at all as I did the clothes while he remained in the car. Thank God for letting us get in the house come January, cuz Teresa was right about January being high season. Man, was it packed! There were three people at the desk and something like half a dozen customers waiting to be served.

I said hi to Desiree, who said she and her family were leaving the next day.

I began the Slim-Fast diet, but since my stomach can’t take dairy, I’m not using their meal shakes. I’m using their meal bars. It’s supposed to have all the vitamins and minerals you need. They recommend a bar for breakfast, a bar for lunch, and a sensible dinner. So, the plan’s simple to follow, but not easy. You spend a lot of time hungry. I’m about 123 pounds and would like to be 100 pounds. I know, though, that at 34 years of age that’s just not going to happen. That’s just a dream. So, I guess I’ll have to settle for weighing between 110-115.

There’s been some flu going around that causes coughing and congestion, and of course, Tom just had to be one of the ones to get it. It’s not that bad, though. He hasn’t had to take anything for it and he’s still carrying on in life as usual.

I reformatted my typed-up journals. The books I typed up, I mean. Instead of having a file for journals 30-39, for example, I have them grouped by years. After 1995, I started writing a lot more, so I had to have two groups for 1996 because a file was too big to be backed up on floppy disks. January-June would be filed as 1996-1, and July-December would be filed as 1996-2.

Tom went to bed at 10:30 and I have to get him up at 4:00 to make the final dump of the trailer’s shit tank. Dennis and his wife are supposedly coming out this Saturday to pick up the trailer.

I began reworking my story last night.

Ashley died today. The mouse with the hunchback. She had some kind of spinal defect, anyway. She wasn't one of my favorites, so it isn't hitting me hard. According to my chart, I had her for 11 months. It doesn't seem like I got Katie and Ashley that long ago.

Tom went to work about an hour ago, and I’m getting ready to read.

Yesterday’s sex was the usual. At one point he tried to claim he came but didn’t get soft afterward, so he kept going. That’s not the way it works, Tom. You don’t have to be a guy to know that. I tell you, April is when he’ll cum. At least that’s what I sense right now. He’ll probably always cum 2-4 times a year. Anyway, he was all lies by saying we’d have more sex and he’d cum more, but again, I can’t complain. I may wonder at times what it would’ve been like to have a child, but 99% of the time I still don’t want one, and I’m not horny enough for more sex. Also, I don’t have to worry that I’m depriving him in any way, cuz I know he’s how he wants to be. It’s just the blatant lies that get to me and like I said earlier, everyone lies. Everyone. Parents, teachers, contractors, cops, and even spouses.

But he did one of his many things to make up for his lies, and really, the only two things he’s ever really lied to me about were pertaining to sex and having a baby, so he’s doing pretty good compared to most guys, even if some would say that that’s enough. He made an awesome entertainment center. I had been worried that for various reasons, he’d take months to do it, but he did it all over the weekend. It looks great, and it’ll look even better with a bigger TV on it. Because it’s been painted black, dolls with light-colored hair/clothing look great on it. Bailey looks great on it. I don’t know if Meli will look all that great on it, though, cuz the darker, ethnic dolls look better on whitewashed furniture. I don’t even know if I’ll ever get Meli. Jade’s not even assembled yet. We have the two speakers that were in the Phoenix living room at the sides of the entertainment center, and on one of them, just like before, sits Summer Dream. She looks so good centered on a speaker with her gown hanging down.

Will the cops harass me tomorrow in any way? Will I be subpoenaed? Or will they keep their word and let it go? Tom says he doubts I’ll hear anymore regarding the issue and I hope to hell he’s right, cuz I disagree. I think I’ll be served tomorrow. If not, then certainly some time this week. You know me. I always have to pay for everything, no matter how petty it may be. It’s everyone else that can get away with shit. I can say one thing for sure, though. They did get my mail. That’s the good part. The bad part is that they were too determined to get it to the police and get them on my ass to read it. I mean, I highly doubt they’d have read it first, then given it to the police. I think that as soon as they knew it was from me, they called the cops.

Well, I haven’t heard the little boy next door yet, but I’ve seen him. He’s over there now riding a little tricycle around the back of their house which faces the side of ours. The bedroom is on the other side towards the center of our property, although closer towards the front of it than the back. I noticed a swing set over there shortly after Christmas, which I don’t believe was there before. It figures that with all the kids that play in the front of their houses out here, this one’s got to play in back. I just hope it stays quiet.

Speaking of kids, I’m thrilled to say I feel no desire whatsoever to have one. In fact, if I was told I was pregnant right now, I would not be happy. There are too many other things I want to do that a child would only prohibit. So, if Tom’s happy, he can feel free to not get off later on when we screw, and besides, I knew his saying we’d have more sex and that he’d get off more often was a joke. He always says that, but that’s not what I want any more than it’s what he wants. Just like in Phoenix, though, he’s waiting till the end of the day for that, like he wants to be more tired to make it easier to hold back. I don’t know why he’d want to now, though, cuz I just finished my period. So even if I were fertile, I wouldn’t be fertile now. I guess it’s just a habit.

He’s out there working on the entertainment center now, which looks like it’s coming along great. He says it’s intellectual work, not physical, and that he’s caught up on his sleep and feels fine. Wait till we get to bed, though. Then the cramps and aches will start and the fatigue will set in.

The stove and oven are great. It’s funny how we have cheap countertops and little things like that, but we have top-notch appliances. The oven’s awesome! It beeps when it’s preheated and a light next to the word preheated goes on. It has a digital temperature as well as a digital clock, and setting its digital timer is a piece of cake. The oven’s self-cleaning, too. The stove is fantastic for being electric. I thought it’d take a while for the coils to heat up, but it heated up as fast as gas does!

I decided to print till my ink died, and I can’t wait to get new cartridges! I had fun printing out some animal pictures and framing them, and they look like actual photographs.

Yesterday, both Tom and I went through a horrid ordeal. I’ll get to it as soon as I cover some household news.

We got the ice maker working, and it sounds pretty weird. A little loud, too. Kind of sounds like someone’s bowling in a nearby room.

I’ve used our high-tech dishwasher and it’s great! I missed having a dishwasher. It has a lot of options. It even has a delay timer on it.

No house is perfect, though, as wonderful as this one is. I don’t like the dual faucets very much, or the linoleum in the entryway by the front door. Perhaps it looks nicer, but it gets so damn dirty! It would’ve been easier if it were carpet, cuz it’s a lot easier to vacuum dirt off of the carpet than it is to sweep it off of a floor. Even the utility area would be nice to have carpeted.

Also, the stupid fucks put the bedroom light switch by the project room door and not just inside the bedroom door where it should be. That’s where it belonged, but no, the stupid, brainless shits had to put it on the other side of the room.

Tom began setting up his office today and judging by the familiar patterns I see here, I was right about him not changing sexually and his not wanting sex more often. I’m glad, though, that he is who he is and that he’s still going to want it only once a week (on the weekend) because of how I’ve become. I’m not only less horny than I used to be in my 20s, but it’s just easier for me to do my own getting off when the mood strikes, which may sometimes be when he’s at work or asleep, anyway. Maybe I’m lazy or maybe I just don’t have the patience to direct him when he goes down on me so I can get off. He knows me well enough not to need much direction, but it’s easier to slow down or speed up on your own, rather than to tell someone else to slow down or speed up. Talking isn’t something someone usually wants to do when they’re trying to get off.

Tom also set up his rock tumbler which is on his dresser in the guest room right now. It’s not that loud. It’s a soothing sound, actually, but right now I can’t hear it two rooms away from where I am.

The second bathroom’s toilet is clogged up, cuz according to Tom, he took quite a dump. I knew it. I just knew it. I told him things would start breaking or being a problem way sooner and way more often than they should. We’re totally hexed with cars and toilets, as I said, and we were cursed with both of them yesterday. Not only did the toilet clog up, but he got a flat tire.

Today was the third morning I woke up in my new home without being rudely woken up by a bunch of lying cops with nothing better to do. I slept for ten hours I was so exhausted.

At 8:30 yesterday, there was a knock on the door. I dragged myself out of bed and saw that cop again and was like, Shit! Fuck! I thought he was alone till I opened the door and saw the black detective with him and all the others. There were at least 5-6 cop cars and maybe 8 cops. Some were from here, the Pinal County sheriff’s office and some were from Phoenix. So as soon as I saw they were from Phoenix, and that the detective’s shirt said Biased Crimes, I knew it was about that black bitch. Especially since it was right after my call to her.

He came in showing me a picture of Tom and asked if that was my husband. He had a picture of me, too. He said I had to come with him, refused to tell me what the matter was about, and refused to let me call Tom or even leave him a note. The little cock did let me get dressed and take my inhalers with me, though.

Then the cop from here admitted that the Robin story was bullshit. Never before have I resented cops as I do now. They’re supposed to be trustworthy, not blatant liars yet they are! I’ve learned that parents can’t be trusted, teachers can’t be trusted, cops can’t be trusted, contractors can’t be trusted…no one can be trusted!

So the detective gets in his unmarked car while I’m thrown in the backseat of a Phoenix cop car with a couple of uniformed shitheads. Don’t get me wrong. No one mistreated me in any way, they just lied their asses off. I began to wonder if there wasn’t more to this than just a simple case of a nasty phone call and letter cuz they were just going to total extremes. Then again, cops like to hype things up and put on grand shows for people all the time. Nonetheless, I asked why all the cars to go get one person and what was the story, and the stupid fuck had the nerve to say, “I don’t know.”

Yeah, right! And I don’t know my middle name, either.

“I don’t know,” the little shit said, “You’ll have to talk to Detective Jerry O” (the black Biased Crimes guy).

The people next door were out watching the whole charade, and I remember thinking that if I were one of those shy, private types who worried about what others thought, I’d be really fucking embarrassed.

We were pretty much silent during the ride to Phoenix, but I couldn’t believe it! I was in such shock. All that just to get one person? It took all those people just to get one unarmed person? And all cuz of a letter and a phone call? OK, perhaps the phone call was stepping over the line, but I should have a right to write anything I want and send it to whomever I want. It’s called “freedom of speech” and this is America. Aren’t you supposed to be able to speak or write your mind here? Doesn’t mean what you say/write is right or wrong. Doesn’t mean people have to agree with you, but it’s supposed to be people’s right, nonetheless.

The guy driving said there were so many cars cuz the Phoenix people needed to be led in cuz they couldn’t find their way. That’s fine, but you mean it took two or three Pinal County cars to lead two or three Phoenix cars? Wouldn’t one of each have been enough? Maybe, thanks to all the lies the blacks and Mexicans had to have told about me, they thought I was some armed psycho out to kill anyone who crossed me. What if we had moved to California or Florida, though? Would they have flown out to get me?

I was never as nervous as maybe I should’ve been, but I guess that’s just cuz I’ve dealt with these idiots before and made up my mind a long time ago not to let any kind of authority figures intimidate me. If anything, I was pissed. They totally reminded me of being interrogated by my parents and the staff members I had to deal with. I’m not a kid anymore. I haven’t been in years and I never will be again. I’m an adult now and I don’t owe anyone any explanations for how I live my life, so I didn’t say anything that I didn’t feel was necessary to be said. I didn’t want to risk my anger surfacing, although I made it clear how annoyed I was. I didn’t feel great physically, though. I had a headache, cramps, and a full bladder I couldn’t release for a while cuz my muscles were tied in knots.

So we get to the main police station in Phoenix, and meanwhile, I’m still not sure whether or not I was ever arrested. They didn’t tell me I was under arrest, they didn’t show me an arrest warrant or a search warrant, they never put me in a cell, never made me pay anything to get out of there, and never gave me a court date of any kind. In the end, Jerry O said that the issue would be wrapped up that day and that that was what he was shooting for. Naturally, I agreed and even volunteered to sign a paper promising never to contact these old neighbors in any way ever again. However, I don’t buy it. I don’t think his word meant shit and neither did mine. Meaning that me taking the time to make that promise meant nothing to them, cuz they knew they were gonna eventually have me served. I hate liars! Especially when they’re cops! I mean, that is sick! Sick! If you can’t trust cops, who can you trust? They’re such con artists. Again, we’re talking about a letter and a phone call. Not a murder. And why they couldn’t just level with me and tell me to expect a subpoena, makes no sense to me, although Tom says they’ll drop it and move on. Especially since they already have my word about ignoring these people. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do for years, but they wouldn’t let me ignore them and they still won’t, even though we don’t live with them anymore. Believe me, I don’t want to know these people exist other than in my memories!

I wonder what they would’ve done if I had refused to go with them. Tom said they’d have shown me a warrant at that point and arrested me if I hadn’t gone with them willingly. But just why did I have to go with them? Why would they take all the time out to do all that driving just to talk to me? Why couldn’t they talk to me here or call me? And how did they get this address? Tom says they could’ve tracked it down on our homeowner’s insurance, but I think they got it either from the Hs or they went through the Hs to get to Steven to get it that way.

O had journals I sent to both Joebitch and Debra V (now I know her last name and that Joebitch moved to an apartment complex. Ugh! What a demotion, huh?). He also had a tape of the messages I left Joebitch from the Fairfield. It’s obvious that they gave the cops these things as they received them and that they didn’t just suddenly give them all these things. I think they slowly built their case and that it was the call that finally got them after me. Dumb mistake, I know. What he didn’t present me with, though, was my last letter to Joebitch which was a few weeks ago.

When we got there, I met in a small room with O and a very friendly white female detective who was 40-something. Her name was Linda. While a cassette was recording the “interview,” he presented me with evidence and questions. Some of the letters were the original pages and some were photocopies. He had scattered lines highlighted. I was surprised he didn’t ask me about a lot more things than he did. He never asked me about 80% of the things I said in my letters to these people. I certainly wasn’t going to come out and say I sent this shit to these people even though it’s my right, right or wrong, mean or not, to say what I want to those people (there was no restraining order against me) and to use the postal service, as long as I don’t harm anyone, so I had to think fast. I’m very pleased with the way I handled the matter, unlike how I handled past problems with cops. It doesn’t necessarily mean it did me any good since cops like to lie and say something’s over when they know it’s not. Cops just don’t seem to be able to let go very easily and move on. It’s like, just drop it, will you? I gave you my word about these people and I fully intend to keep my word.

As figured, he asked me if the issue had anything to do with the fact that these people are black and Mexican and I told him no, it was about being harassed with noise. I didn’t tell them that they were the ones who tried to make it about race, though, cuz what good would that have done me? Tom brought up a good point, and it’s too bad that we both didn’t think about this after the fact, but I should’ve asked these cops if they saw my dolls. Why would I have black, Spanish, and Indian dolls if I were so prejudiced? Using racial slurs is just an expression for me. It may not be right, but they’re just words I use to vent and I don’t do it directly to their faces. It doesn’t mean I hate all blacks or Mexicans. These assholes’ race had nothing to do with the issue. The issue was that they deliberately harassed me for a long period of time, and they got what they deserved from me. They instigated shit with me and I spoke my mind about it and I had every right to.

Tom mentioned that living here is a point against me cuz this is where whites go that hate blacks and Mexicans. Could’ve fooled me. A couple of people next door may have some Mexican in them. The renters may be Mexican. I’ve seen Mexicans galore around here who aren’t just farmers, but Tom insists that 90% of the residents out here are white. Yeah, but either way, if cops go judging people by where they live, then they become the prejudiced ones.

Tom also said that they were trying to bait me into saying something against Mexicans/blacks, which I didn’t, cuz I don’t have anything against them in general, although at this point, after all, that’s happened, I do prefer white neighbors (when God will allow me to have them?). Just most of them. Maybe not even that, though. Just the ones who treat me like shit for no reason at all like these people did. What if I did say some kind of racial slur, though? Would I have been thrown in a cell and brought to trial simply because they didn’t agree with my vocabulary and because they didn’t like my opinions? But it would’ve been my right to say that. It may have been a lousy way to express myself, but people have a right to their opinions and a right to say who they do and don’t like. I can see if someone were standing in the middle of a parking lot swearing or calling out racial slurs, but this was different. I don’t like some blacks and some Mexicans and I have every right to my beliefs and feelings. I don’t agree with their lifestyle, and I don’t like the way they use race as a crutch, while they carry on like wild animals, ripping off our tax dollars so they can sit back and be lazy. I also happen to not like some whites either, and again, it’s my right.

I don’t know why he asked this, but he asked if I met Debra’s “boyfriend.” I knew it. I knew those two weren’t married. It’s the single people that rake in the welfare dough.

I lied my ass off, though, just like everyone else did. Just like the cops did and the blacks and Mexicans did. And yes, I will use racial slurs here cuz it’s my journal, and my right to use whatever words I want to in it. Doesn’t mean my choice of words would necessarily be most people’s choice of words, and it may not be very nice of me, but it’s my right to express my opinion. If people would only stop being so sensitive! If Tom called me a fat ugly bitch, I wouldn’t like it, but it’s his right and I wouldn’t go off the deep end over it like some people apparently would. People can’t help but feel what they feel. This doesn’t mean I haven’t met any nice black or Mexican people, and it doesn’t mean all whites are wonderful, but I just don’t care for people in general no matter what their color or race, and when you deliberately and continually harass me, I won’t like you no matter what you are. You can be purple with green polka dots and orange stripes for all I care. Just don’t wrong me.

So our little Bias fighter asked me about certain statements I made in my letters. My bogus story was that they were just thoughts and ideas I typed and printed out that I no longer wanted and threw in the recycle bin. Also, that’s where I threw some old water-stained manila envelopes, too. I then said Miss N obviously took them, forged my handwriting, then sent them to her and Debra, assuming they knew each other and were out to retaliate against me for the city complaints I made. That was my explanation for my fingerprints being on the stuff. I only admitted to the phone call and said I was sorry and ashamed of my handling the situation as I did, and explained that some of the things I said in my journal were just my way of venting. That last statement is entirely true, too. I did vent a lot in the journals, and sometimes I did say a lot of extreme things. Also, to explain the mumbo-jumbo, I told them my computer crashed a lot, fouling things up, and that I didn’t always bother to fix broken sentences. I couldn’t say I was just trying to be weird and confusing, cuz that’d say I did mail these things to them. The cops aren’t stupid, I’m sure, any more than I’m stupid enough to buy their lies, but hey, if they’re gonna bullshit me, and if old neighbors are gonna bullshit them, why should I be Miss Honest? I cooperated just enough to appear decent enough, so to speak. To appear willing to face, admit, clear up, and move on in life. I may not have fessed up to the degree they would’ve liked, but I wasn’t an all-out uncooperative, rude, blatant liar, either.

I used a lot of bogus names in their letters just to be confusing, and he asked me if I knew those people. I denied most of them, then said a friend of the family was named Al, for example. He asked me about some of the old pictures I had enclosed, and I explained that I liked to decorate the paper I’d write on. When he pulled out the page I sent Deb with my finger, I said I had just been playing around with the digital camera (he actually found that one amusing), and again, I insisted these were things I disposed of that they dug up. I also insisted that they trashed our yard (that much is true), spray-painted our wall, egged our windows, prank-called us, sent us threatening letters, and that I was afraid to call the cops or go to court for fear of retaliation against me and Tom (the blacks really did drop us a few notes and a few calls).

I forgot to say that they wouldn’t let me call Tom, who had to have been terrified and wondering if I’d been kidnapped, for about an hour after I got there, but he got in later than he expected and by then, Mr. Biased had left him a few messages. Tom said Mr. Biased said something about how it hadn’t yet been decided if I’d be booked. You mean to tell me they were considering booking me over words? Words on a phone and words on paper? I thought actions were what mattered. I didn’t do anyone any bodily harm, so why would they even consider throwing me in jail? Just out of pure spite?

Anyway, he kept insisting that because I was an adult, I couldn’t make a phone call, but I corrected him on that and let him know that I knew that everyone brought into a police station has a right to one phone call. When he knew that I knew that, he gave in.

At one point he was asking me about Tom and questioned if he was involved, but I assured him that he wasn’t in any way involved.

After our so-called interview, Linda took me downstairs for fingerprinting. I asked why they were needed when they should have those on file and those are supposed to be good for life, and she said it was so they could have an updated set on their new system. A woman tried to scan them in on their computer, but she had problems with that so she did them the old-fashioned way with ink (the computer was saying mismatch or reject on some of my fingers). All that over me writing my opinion! Because I expressed my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs, I had to go through all this shit. I didn’t write a sexually explicit letter to a ten-year-old, for crying out loud! I didn’t threaten to kill them. At least not directly. But I did say things like how nice it’d be if they’d all drop dead, but who wouldn’t if they were treated like I was? Everyone’s forgetting the big picture here. Either that, or they just don’t want to see it, but the big picture is that I’m the victim here. Not them. They abused me, and it really burns me up to have to be dragged through all this shit while they get off Scot-free from any kind of punishment for what they did to me. If they hadn’t harassed me, there’d never have been a problem. They brought this on themselves and they are their own worst enemy.

Linda was the nicest to me. She was so friendly and so encouraging. She suggested I use my writing in a productive way, and I told her that I’ve been thinking of doing that. It’s just that I haven’t had time or opportunity to with the move, and we discussed that, too.

There were a lot of women cops there. Maybe more than guys. Some were feminine and some were butchy. Especially this one that was talking with Linda and the fingerprinting lady. She had to be the most masculine lesbian I ever did see. Everything but her voice was totally male. So male I’ll bet she doesn’t even get periods. Gayness is because of hormone levels, and I’ll bet the reason I can’t conceive has to do with a hormone imbalance. Not that I’m butchy, but there is some masculinity to me what with my aggressiveness, and this could cause a slight alteration in hormone levels which needs to be very precise, from what I’ve heard, in order for conception to occur.

Linda was the only one who cared enough to help me find a ride home. All the others were typical pigs - they’ll give you a ride when they want you for something, but then they’ll leave you stranded when they’re finished with you. Because no one could reach Tom, the only other number I could think of to call was Mary’s. I explained to her that Mary and Dave would be out, and let her know about Ma and Evelyn. She called and Evelyn said she’d pay for a cab to take me there (Evelyn doesn’t have a car). I asked if she told Evelyn the story, and she said she only told them that I was OK, but that it wasn’t any of their business unless I wanted to tell them.

Evelyn came out as soon as my cab pulled up and she paid the $15 fare. She said to go inside so Ma wouldn’t worry anymore. They had thought at first that I was in an accident or something. By this time, they reached Tom, and Tom, who was very supportive, sweet, and loving, was on his way to get me. I was afraid he’d be rather upset, distant, and go lecturing me for hours. Not that he was any more thrilled than I was, he was great and it was wonderful to have him and to be able to run into Ma’s outstretched arms like I did when I entered the house. I certainly didn’t have that in the past when I had to deal with the cops back east. Either no one cared, or they just couldn’t deal with it well because they had too many of their own problems to deal with.

I see what Tom means about Evelyn, though, who says we did meet at Mary’s wedding. I just don’t remember her. She’s definitely not someone I’d want to live with and I can see the Doe in her, but for short, infrequent interactions like this, she’s tolerable. She hates the dog for biting her and is afraid of him, so he was outside. That way I didn’t have to be afraid of him, too (Tom’s not afraid of him or dogs in general). She was insistent upon feeding me since she gets so bored sitting around there every day. At first, I was too tense to eat, but then I appreciated the bagel she made me cuz I hadn’t eaten at all.

The story I gave them was that I was wanted as a witness for questioning in regards to the old neighbors, then went on to tell them about how they harassed us. To say this wasn’t straying far from the truth if even at all from the truth.

It was so good to finally be home again. With the corrupt, power-hungry ways cops have, I didn’t know when I’d be home, although deep down I think I knew they’d go by the book as far as that went, which said they had no reason to hold me and let me go.

Tom said he came in and assumed I was still asleep. But I usually close the bedroom door when I’m asleep, I told him, and he said he figured I got up, then fell back asleep without closing the door. Then, after a few minutes of bopping around (I had told him to wake me up when he got in with coffee from Circle K), he thought it odd that the noise hadn’t stirred me. When he approached the bed, he said he thought I was under the covers, but when he pulled back the covers, all he found was that long pillow I nestle into. He was concerned at that point, and that’s when he checked for messages and got the black pig’s messages. I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t get in on time, cuz then he’d have had an hour or more to wait till he could find out where the hell I was and he’d have been frantic with worry.

If there’s anything I’ve learned about the people of Arizona, it’s that they’re bold. Real fucking bold! They’re determined, persistent, desperate, gutsy people. The stuff I wrote, designed to deter them from contacting the cops, obviously didn’t work, but that took guts! Think about it. To be willing to go to the cops about someone’s letter to you, despite all the things they accused you of in the letter, is really desperate. Some of the things I accused them of, of course, were true and some weren’t, but I’d be afraid that the cops would be too confused to know who to believe. Well, these people out here certainly don’t fear a thing and are so hateful and vindictive! It’s scary what people will risk just to get at you.

Anyway, enough black and Mexican talk. If the cops will allow it, they’re out of my life for good. From here on out my only connection to them will be a smile on my face when every weekend rolls around that I don’t have to listen to their shit and deal with their antics, hour after hour of the day and night.