Getting up at 6:30 this morning wasn’t that easy. I snoozed till 7:00, and I’m like - you fucking, mother-fucking freeloaders! Still disrupting my life. Still interfering with the way I live. Still controlling me. If it weren’t for those sick fucks, I wouldn’t have to be doing this! Joely N – always with you, always with me. Debra V – always with you, always with me. Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Woke up to a cloudy day. The sun’s just starting to poke through the clouds. Last night the monsoons returned and we had a half-hour storm with lots of dust, wind, thunder, rain, and flashing lightning like a strobe light flickering that was almost obnoxious. I’ve never seen anything like it in the East.

We didn’t screw yesterday, not to my surprise, cuz we just did it last Thursday, so I knew he wouldn’t be in the mood to do it again so soon, and neither of us wanted it bad enough to make the time for it earlier in the day before we tired out with the day’s activities (he worked on the yard and I worked out and cleaned during bingo commercials online).

The only reason we screwed Thursday was that I suggested on Tuesday we get together. That’s when he said he was thinking of Thursday (like hell he was), and as usual, he’s always got to plan ahead when it comes to sex. He can’t just do it. He also claimed, after being on top for barely a minute, that I was too dry and tight and he wasn’t even able to get inside, but I know this wasn’t so. I wasn’t dry or tight and he was in there, he just wasn’t all that hard cuz he couldn’t get into it and wasn’t really in the mood to screw. Why does he have to blame me for his lack of desire? Can’t he just tell me when he’s not in the mood before we screw? And couldn’t he have informed me of his intentions back when I wanted a kid? He’s now claiming that the reason he said he wanted a kid, saw how much I wanted one and was a wreck emotionally, yet did nothing to help us by allowing us to go to a doctor, was because of all the shit that was going on in our lives (mainly the blacks/Mexicans). He said he had to use his best judgment and prioritize things. Well, I’m still mighty glad we didn’t have a kid in Phoenix, but couldn’t he have told me this and that he wanted to wait? At the same time what he did makes sense, I also see it as just another one of his lame excuses.

I also let him know that he’s never to cum with me again. He’s either gonna cum regularly or not at all. He’s not gonna insult me with a squirt here and a squirt there like giving a waitress pennies for a tip. I let him know he doesn’t have to worry about a kid, cuz I not only don’t want one, but I don’t want one with someone who doesn’t want one either, and I don’t care what he’s had to say about it over the years. I know this isn’t just about pressure, neighbors, money, moving, etc. It’s about fear of impregnating me cuz he doesn’t want the expense/burden of a kid, and cuz he doesn’t think I couldn’t handle it. He’s probably right. Those things cause more problems than joy and they can’t sit still and shut up for more than a minute. Having a kid is no longer the issue. I don’t want that and am fine without it. The issue is his lies, excuses and the way he handled things in the past, and damn you, God, for letting it all happen! Damn you to hell for letting me go through the emotional turmoil I went through for years! Why did I ever have to go through the years I did of wanting a kid in the first place when you knew you’d never allow me one? Just having Art and Doe for parents is enough of a lifelong punishment, but you couldn’t stop there, could you? You had to include Brattleboro, then add Valleyhead, the health problems, etc. Just one of these things would’ve been enough trouble to last me a lifetime!

I had to rescue poor Ratsy last night. It’s a good thing I was close enough to be able to hear him. I was in the bedroom when I heard him squawking, and ran out to find that he got his leg caught between the rungs of his wheel. It wasn’t easy to free him cuz he was squirming in a panic, but I managed to, nonetheless, and he seems fine now. He just had quite a scare.

Some of the people’s yards around here remind me of Sharon’s house, which I don’t think I remembered to describe. It wasn’t the house she lived in, just worked out of. It was a house similar to what we had on a similar street with houses a few feet apart. She makes Tom’s mom’s old house seem like it was kept neat and uncluttered. The place was filthy! I’m not talking about just lots of messy clutter, but dirt, too. Tons of caked-in dirt everywhere. That toilet must not have been cleaned in years.

Anyway, saying that Maricopa is an “ugly beautiful” place is an appropriate way to describe it. Some of the houses are well-kept, but more often than not, the houses are old, dumpy manufactured homes with scummy yards. A lot of people’s yards are as trashed as ours is. Instead of garbage, though, it’s usually trashed with old junky cars and shit like that. Tom wants to be just like most people are as a whole and in general, but he’s obsessed with being different than me. In other words, if he sees most people turning their yards into dump sites, then he wants to too, but if he sees me using a big spoon to eat ice cream with, then he has to use a little spoon. Having things trashed, though, is his specialty. I mean, it’s a selective, whatever-suits-him-best kind of thing. If most people’s yards were uncluttered and neat, he’d have a harder time keeping up with that and wouldn’t want to copycat them as much.

We went to Circle K earlier and I got my weekend treats; a candy bar and a little bag of pecan cookies. My coffee, too. He got a huge soda and an ice cream and we both got bingo scratch tickets and won $3. Last time we won $8, the most we ever won at once.

Got up at 7:30 today. Well, actually I didn’t pull myself out of bed till just after 8:00.

We have barrel cactuses with flowers blooming on top of them. There’s one with yellow flowers and one with reddish-orange flowers. I got a shot of the reddish-orange one. The yellow one wasn’t as nice, and there were bees hanging around it, so I didn’t want to hang around there.

Last night I saw a documentary that was quite disturbing and only went to enforce just how fucked up and unfair the law is. A man killed his fiancé and everyone knew it, too. They had the body and all kinds of evidence. They also had testimony from this guy’s ex, who took pictures of the murder and helped him bury the body. But even so, and to everyone’s utter disbelief, the predominantly male jury acquitted the cock (right before Christmas, the time juries are most likely to acquit). Then, after a while, the pictures of the murder were discovered. However, despite the now more than obvious evidence, they couldn’t retry the cock, cuz of this insane law called the Double Jeopardy law, which prohibits people from being tried twice for the same crime. All he did time for was for perjury. They gave him 10 years, minus 2 if he’d publicly confess to the killing, then minus another 2 for the time he already served while awaiting trial, then minus any more time off he can get for good behavior. Meanwhile, the female, who only took pictures and helped dispose of the body got 5 years, while this cock will never do a day’s time for the murder he committed.

It’s a wonderful world we live in, huh? And the thing about it is that it doesn’t have to be this way. Life doesn’t have to be so unfair and so wrong. We can’t stop God from wreaking havoc he’s gonna wreak on the world and the people in it, but with a little common sense, all people have to do is not write such stupid laws, and write the laws we do need. But the lawmakers are pretty much males, so what do you expect? Stupid people do stupid things. It’d be so simple to right a lot of the world’s wrongs that I wonder if society wants life to be so unfair and fucked up. But what did I learn from this show? What I already knew – that if you’re female and if you’re charged with a felony, you’re going down. Yes, perps have more rights than victims, but only if you’re male. The laws were written by males for males.

You’d think having 9 hours of sleep would be enough, but nope. I was still exhausted when the alarm went off at 8:00. At least I didn’t have any nightmares. I woke up for a sec at 6:30 but went right back to sleep. I’ve been beat lately. I guess all the stress of the sickos’ shit is wearing me down.

I get so bored a lot lately, that I almost wish I couldn’t type nearly as fast as I talk so it’d take me longer to jot down my thoughts, but I’d rather be bored than bogged down with court dates. In fact, I better enjoy this boredom, really savor it, cuz it’s not going to last. I am going to literally be bogged down with court dates, then counseling, then community service, then God only knows what else, so I better enjoy this freedom and spare time while I can.

Tom’s attitude towards the people back east is to be commended and admired. Most people would be like – but they’re your family. Makeup with them and just be nice. Just put up with how they are cuz they’re your family. However, Tom happily supports my not having anything to do with them. He knows what they’re like. He didn’t just hear about it from me, he got to see it for himself as well.

About two nights ago was when it really hit me that it’s over (I just wish it were over with the blacks and Mexicans!) and that my dumping them is the best thing I ever did. How it hit me was when I asked myself how I’d react if I found out they died. Well, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t react in any way or feel anything. I wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t get mad, wouldn’t get glad. I don’t care when and how they die, and personally, I don’t care to know about it, either. Even if they changed - it’s too late. I don’t want to know them from nothing.

Later...

It’s a good thing I learned long ago to save regularly, cuz right after I typed my last sentence, we had a 20-minute power failure. Even the phone was dead, and God, you don’t realize just how much those mice stink till the air cleaner’s off!

Anyway, as I was saying about the assholes back east, the blacks, the Mexicans, who I’ll always love to bitch about even if I want nothing to do with them – maybe I should’ve called them blacks and Mexicans. Maybe I should’ve said something threatening in my mail to Tammy. That way I’d be accused of something that was true for a change. For some ridiculous reason, I thought that if you didn’t say something, no one would say that you did, but people will say anything when they’re pissed at you. If all I called Tammy was a bitch, she’d say I called her that and more. The blacks and Mexicans aren’t the only ones who can lie and hype things up, though. I intend to do the same in court every chance I get, as long as it’s something that can’t be proven.

The next time a black or a Mexican asks someone why they “decided” to be a racist, I hope that someone reminds them that they make people racists.

I still hold to my word too, of not hiring an attorney. These people took my peace, my sleep, my freedom, and they aren’t getting our money. I’ll be damned if I’ll pay to defend myself against the very people who abused me. They’re the perpetrators, not me.

I thought more about us getting a gun and as I told Tom, I’m not changing my mind, but there’s no way I could get off on self-defense if someone came through a window or kicked in a door. No matter how obvious it was that it was self-defense, you know I’d go down for murder cuz of how screwy the law is and cuz of my shit luck with the law. I may not always get punished, but I always get caught when I do something society doesn’t think I should do (like with the phone calls), so knowing that, I’m sure I’d be imprisoned forever for shooting even in self-defense. At this point, I’d rather be killed than kill and be locked up forever, but I’m not gonna let cops, laws or anyone influence the way I live either, and the things I do. No one’s gonna bully me into or out of anything, and a gun is something all sane, responsible people should get, no matter what the odds are of them having to use it, cuz the world’s just too crazy.

Houdini usually comes out to play at sundown and he’s so cute! He knows to stay by his cage and hang around there only. If he starts straying out of bounds, I call him and he comes back. He’s been chewing up the carpet in the corner behind the cage, though, so I put that ugly wooden chest there that Tom thinks is so cool, with a spare piece of carpet on top of it for him to tear up.

Ratsy comes to the door and to the sides of the cage to be acknowledged, but he hardly ever comes out. He mostly sleeps.

I do not like what I just saw. I left my office to go pee and when I came back, there was a cranberry-colored car sitting in the street in front of the house. I couldn’t tell how many people were in it, but I think there was more than one. I was tempted, before it pulled away a minute or two later up Meadow Green, to go out and see what was up, but I didn’t in case they were cop-connected or armed and crazy. It could’ve been as innocent of a thing as stopping to look at maps, or someone staking out the house for criminal purposes. I called Tom to let him know about it and told him that even though I didn’t have a bad vibe, to look for a cranberry car should he find the door kicked in and me with a bullet hole in my head. Although chances are one in a zillion it meant anything bad, there were a couple of things about it that bugged me. One, I’ve been having more chase dreams, and two, the freeloaders were associated with the same exact car and the person driving looked possibly blackish. Or Mexican. But then again, that’s a common misfortune in the southwest. I asked Sharon if she thought we were safe or if they could’ve gotten our address somehow, but as far as she and Tom say, they can’t possibly know where we live. Not unless the police gave them our address. They could give it to them without knowing it. Mr. Biased gave me Joebitch’s address, although I don’t remember it. When he showed me and asked me if it was my handwriting on the envelope addressed to the house, it also had a label stuck on it with the address to be forwarded to.

Anyway, and as I told Tom, although it’s pretty unlikely for someone to break in here what with how out of the way we are, and although I could probably handle one or two unarmed people with my bare hands, what if one or more people broke in with guns? Then what do I do? I don’t like feeling defenseless here, and although the idea of learning to use guns scares me, I don’t want to ever live to regret not having a gun. So as soon as we can, we’re going to get us a little protection. Not something we tote along with us wherever we go, but something to keep in a kitchen drawer.

My doctor’s appointment about my hopeless asthma and allergies is set for the 8th of next month at 9:00. That’s two days this month I’ll have to get up 3 or 4 hours before the usual 9:00, and God knows how many more times I’ll have to do that within the next few years, so I decided to back my schedule up till I’m getting up at 6:00 and crashing at 10:00.

Later...

I’m trying to figure out if what I just heard was thunder or the military. It didn’t vibrate the house like the military does, and there didn’t seem enough clouds at the time to be thunder, so who knows what it was? It’s clouding up out there now, though. It seems like the monsoon season has come and gone, cuz it hasn’t rained for a couple of weeks or so.

Tom called before going to pick up his mom from daycare, wanting to know if I’d seen anything more and needed him to come home. Nope. All’s fine. Haven’t seen anything else suspicious. I’m just tired today. Now it’s my turn to feel rundown, achy and energyless, I guess, cuz that’s exactly how I feel. Being woken up by nightmares doesn’t help. I couldn’t fall right back asleep. It took me time, and of course, I got up at 8:30 when the alarm went off. Tomorrow I’ll be getting up at 8:00.

I wish I had more to write about right now, but certainly not trips to jails! If having only jail to write about means having anything at all to write about, then I’d prefer to have nothing to write about, thank you!

Guess I can get into detail about the dreams. In one dream, I was walking down a dark street when a car slowly passed me, stopping a few hundred yards or so away. A man, who was obviously drunk out of his mind, got out, mumbled something, and sent me screaming down the road. I screamed no! three times and came awake on the third no. Not the way I’d react in real life. Not with how pissed I get. Oh, I may be scared at first, but my fear has a way of quickly turning to rage, giving me strength that surprises even me.

In the second dream, Dan was back from Indiana, blasting the shit out of his music. Tom said he was going to go talk to him, and I told him, “No, don’t do that. You know asking someone to lower their music is a sin in Arizona, even if they are white and they do own and not rent.” But he went anyway, only to be chased back over here by Dan at gunpoint. I managed to kick the gun out of Dan’s hand, grab him by the back of the shirt, and toss him onto the ground. As I was boasting about how I was taught to get a person down and then disable them, I stomped on his neck with the intention of breaking it. Oh, I broke it all right. I not only broke it, I killed the guy. When it hit me what I had done, I turned to Tom and ordered him to get digging (so we could bury him), but it was too late. Just then, a cruiser pulled around the side of the house where we were at.

I made my Tuesday call to Sharon. Thank God she has a call-in line with an answering machine, or else getting the call made would be an all-day task with the way she loves to babble and ramble on.

Although I haven’t had any allergy attacks since around the 15th, I’m still having Tom make me an appointment about that and the asthma. I figured I better hurry up and do it now before the court, counseling and community service appointments build up, making it harder for me to find the time to schedule appointments. I’m still pretty sure there’s not much they can do to help me, and if there is, God will compensate me for it with a new problem.

While I was in jail I said to myself, you need a whole new life. A serious life change. Go for the invitro as soon as this shit is over, if it ever is, when you’re financially on track. I thought that maybe if I were bogged down with a kid, I wouldn’t have time to think of the assholes that have fucked me over. I wouldn’t have time to seethe with anger. I wouldn’t have time to want to write letters. I mean, with this shit that’s happened, I can restrain myself from acting on any desires like that, but I should get more responsibility, I told myself. Well, that was easy to say when I was in jail. The reality is still the same – that even if Tom and God allowed me to have a child, which I know there’s no way they would, I couldn’t handle it. I’d be the worst mother on earth and the last thing I’d ever want to do is follow in Dureen and Tammy’s footsteps. Although I’ve never been a mother and never will be, I can imagine how much easier it is to say you’re not going to abuse your kids, than it is to stick to it once they get to be a real pain in the ass. I’m sure Dureen and Tammy never set out with the intention of being abusive. I’m sure they didn’t sit down and say to themselves – I’m gonna slap my kids around, make them feel like scum of the earth, etc. It just happens. And aside from all that, that would mean my freedom, if we had a kid, where I’d never again have just 5 minutes to myself. I know the kid would come between me and Tom and put a damper on the things we do. So, knowing how tough and expensive life is with just the two of us, I’d rather be bored 75% of the time like I am. I’d also prefer not to go to court for the freeloaders who harassed me but imagine doing this with a kid? Good, God!

Tom was going to make a frame for his dry-erase board using some material that was leftover, but the frame that’s around our doorways isn’t wood. It’s paper, like cardboard. How flimsy these paper walls are. The only wood is in the floor and exterior walls, besides the cabinets and doors.

Tom fixed the bird clock the other day. I thought it was broken like most of our shit ends up being, but I guess the batteries were just dead and the thing needed resetting.

Later...

If there’s any good news to report in all this bullshit, sending the tape to Larry, even though I know there’s a damn good chance he didn’t listen to it, has curbed my rage towards him as I had hoped. I’m not even furious at Tammy for the lies she wrote/told Tom, cuz she’s always been a habitual liar, anyway, although I’d sure love to give her a piece of my mind. If the law weren’t against me I’d send her a note.

Meanwhile, as for the Mexican-n-black side of it, the odds are stacked against me big time cuz of the way the laws are so black and white nowadays. The laws judge people in one big lump and never individually. Years ago, no one believed a woman when she said she was raped, but now she’s automatically believed. There’s no middle ground. Well, in court, minorities always get the benefit of the doubt. I guess it’s to make up for how the blacks were slaves and how they had no rights years and years ago. It’s a bad time to be a majority. In this day and age, the courts always side with the blacks and especially the blacks cuz they can’t handle shit when things don’t go their way. They have to take a tizzy fit and go rioting instead.

I forgot to say this earlier, but when we returned from the hardware store, there were a couple of cottontails by the house. So cute! Tom says there’s a whole family of them living nearby.

Woke up just before 9:00.

The military still hasn’t gone back to flying. I’m amazed!

I saw Jennifer the morning before court and yesterday afternoon. Guess she’s working both days and nights. She looks even uglier, though, and like she might’ve put on a few. Her face, which was a 1, is now a –5, and her great body isn’t so great anymore.

Tom got us a cool new toy the other day. It’s a laser light and it’s really neat cuz it scatters light on cut glass which looks really pretty. It also doesn’t get wide and dim when you shine it against far-away walls like a flashlight does.

Once again, God just won’t leave our fucking stuff alone and let us have one solid month with nothing breaking or causing some sort of problem. The fucking well shorted again yesterday right after we were going to get together at our usual time – Sunday, late afternoon. I got the immediate feeling that something did not want us to get together yesterday, and I couldn’t figure out why. It was too soon to be ovulating, and so what if I was? You’re talking about a guy who’ll never cum again, so what difference does it make even if I were sterile and ovulating? Anyway, the vibration of the insulation and wire rubbing against the conduit, thanks to the incompetent cocks who did the well, ate right through the wire, so we had to go to a hardware store to get $14 worth of shit to fix it. No one should have to spend $14 on a well they just paid thousands of dollars for less than a year ago!

I heard a car stereo kind of stereo softly thumping about when I went outside yesterday. It was soft enough that it couldn’t be heard inside the house. Again, I couldn’t tell precisely where it was coming from. I’ve seen the red pickup go by a few times, but it’s been quiet. When I told Tom how much I dread the day the blacks and Mexicans come to freeload and blast music in back of us, (cuz I know there’s not a damn thing I can do about it and that I’ll just go to jail if I try), he said we can build a 20’ wall out here, unlike we could in Phoenix. Yeah, but no one should have to live like that. I shouldn’t be forced to build a wall like that and spoil the beautiful view to get some peace around here all because someone can’t keep their antics and their music to themselves. You mean I have to build a 20’ wall on account of someone else’s desperate need for attention? I don’t think so!

I slept fine last night, but the night before was no fun. All night long I dreamt about being chased by the cops and having to hide out from them with Tom’s help.

I guess now’s a good time to finish up about our visit to Sharon’s. I was surprised at how much personal information she told us. She’d have gladly told us her whole life story! I wouldn’t have minded so much if I weren’t so dead tired, just wanting to get home and into a soft, cushiony bed. Oh, it felt so good to come home to the comfort and privacy of my home, bed and toilet! To take a nice relaxing bath in my own tub and to do it alone meant so much to me! Never again will I take for granted the ability to shit with no one else in the room, either!

Sharon said she’s been through everything except for being arrested. She said her youngest kids are in prison for listening to their friends and not their mom, and that she’s buried babies she lost. She would’ve had 11 kids instead of 6, she told us, if 5 of them hadn’t died. Also, both she and her brother say they’re miserable parents, wishing their kids were little again so they could control them.

I learned some scary things from her too, such as how easy it is to get arrested. Anyone can get arrested for anything. Her sons are in prison simply for planning a robbery. They never acted out their plans, yet they’re in prison for it. Tom said he thinks she’s got kids in prison cuz of the close connection to prisons that they grew up with (both she and her brother were COs). Either way, it’s not very comforting to know you can go to jail just for planning something. She said I could slap myself in the face, tear my blouse, and say Tom raped me. They’ll arrest him too, even though he’s my husband. Maybe I should’ve bruised my face, called the cops and said next door did it when we lived in Phoenix, but I have a feeling that if I had tried they’d have shot me for it, or God would’ve really gotten me good for it somehow. Remember, I can’t get away with things. If someone else lies, abuses someone, speaks their mind by phone or mail, or defends themselves in any way, well, all right. But me? That’s like murder if I do any of those things.

Even though she wouldn’t shut up and went on and on forever yacking about this and that, she really was a nice lady. Lively and positive. The last thing I ever expected to hear about upon visiting a bonds company was all this bullshit about having faith in God, but I sat back patiently and put up with her delusional stories about God. I told myself, I know the truth. I know what God really stands for when it comes to my life, so just let her get it out of her system and be done with it.

In the end, she gave me a hug on our way out and an ice cream bar, too. She offered Tom one, but he declined.

Meanwhile, I have to call Sharon every Tuesday to let her know I’m alive and inform her about what happens with this bullshit case, but she swears I have nothing to worry about other than the hassles of going to court. She said whatever I do – never plea bargain. No problem. I’m not about to say I’m guilty when I’m not. I will never plead guilty, trust me, for I am not the guilty party here. Another thing she and her brother told me was that the responsibility is on the county to prove me guilty. See, I thought one was guilty till proven innocent, but they say it’s the other way around. Either way, even though I’m the one who was harassed, and even though I sent the mail and made the calls, I’m sure that in the end I’ll be faced with fines or counseling or even community service where I’m forced to cater to the freeloaders of society. And in the end, the 4 years I had to spend with the blacks and Mexicans in my life will be more like 6 or more years. No judge or jury is going to see this thing for what it is – yes, I made the calls, yes I sent the mail, but I’m the one that was harassed and victimized and pushed into doing what I did. What do they expect? I mean, how far can you badger someone before they either snap completely or do something like send the kind of mail I did? What those blacks and Mexicans need to do is sit down and be grateful I did send them mail and that I didn’t go out and shoot them.

Today we’ve had Ratsy for two years. He’s probably about two years and three months old. I wonder how long he’ll live. The longer, the better.

My dream premonition became a reality today. Just about. I woke up at 115½ pounds, thanks to the stress the blacks and Mexicans have put on me. My measurements from tits to waist to hips to thighs are 36 - 27½ - 36½ - 22.

I still haven’t finished writing about our talk with Sharon and her brother, but I’m sick of this shit, you know? I just need a break from it for a while, so I’ll get into it later.

I already got the Olivia Newton-John CD we ordered on Monday. That was fast! It’s nice to have this on CD instead of the old tape I had of this album that crackled and hissed. The tape was old and kind of defective.

I forgot to mention that yesterday I got the best p-dog pictures yet. Got a few good shots of them at the base of the stairs I was standing on (I was standing right by the door in case I heard a car approaching that happened to be a cruiser so I could jump back in the house to hide). If I’d known then what I do now, I’d never have opened the door to them; they can’t break in even if they see you in the window unless they have a search warrant. I didn’t know this. I thought that they’d bust in to hunt you down and drag you out with just an arrest warrant.

When they came out Tuesday evening, their only intention was to talk to me about the calls back east. They never came out with the intention of arresting me. But when they ran my ID and found that I had a warrant, I was arrested, thanks to the lying shitheads back east. I guess God really wanted me to pay for my calls and letter to Bill like he wants me to pay for simply existing. Everyone else can fight back but me. Bill can do something about my calls/letter, but I couldn’t, and still can’t, do anything about the freeloaders’ abuse and get them out of my hair. If the little cock had just kept his mouth shut, I may have been able to dodge being picked up and the statute of limitations would’ve eventually expired on the default warrant from the subpoena I never got if that’s really what the certified mail was really all about.

I still have a ton of shit to write about, but am just too tired to do it, thanks to the blacks and Mexicans who made me get up 3 hours earlier than I’d have liked to. I will say this much since I’m learning more and more about this bullshit case each day. It’s a grand jury warrant and no longer has anything to do with the blacks and Mexicans, even though it does. The blacks and Mexicans went to the cops with their BS story about me, along with their mail, then that cop investigated it, then the grand jury decided to press the matter. Remember I said I had a certified letter with no return that I ignored, figuring it was just some collection agency? Well, it was probably a subpoena. What took the grand jury so long to decide to press the matter beats me. Maybe somebody did something to the blacks and Mexicans, they’re assuming it’s me, and that’s why they’re pushing this thing.

Anyway, stupid incompetent people include those in law enforcement and courts, and they fucked up the paperwork. Florence never did the paperwork to let Maricopa know I was coming in for an arraignment today, so now I have to be back in court on Aug. 2nd at 8:30. That means we’ll have to get up way, way early. Poor Tom is struggling as it is to make up the hours the freeloaders made him lose.

I want to kill these fuckers!!!

Later...

Just took a two-hour nap. Boy, did I need that!

To finish the part of my trip to jail – I ended up being in that jail for about 12 hours. After I had been upstairs for about 3 hours, I was sprung out of there. On my way down, the guard I was with, along with a paralegal dressed in regular clothes, was teasing me (in a good-hearted way). I’m amazed at how many staff members teased and joked with the inmates! Anyway, I had said I was glad I didn’t get beat up (cuz you always hear of cases where an inmate beat up another inmate for the most stupid reasons, like wanting their food or something like that) and the paralegal teased me by saying that could still be arranged.

We went a few streets away to the bonds lady; a 62-year-old crazy, talkative, but nice lady named Sharon. Tom had already met with her, of course, and warned me about how much she loved to talk. So, when we went in there, she shook my hand, introduced herself, and let me know that she would own me till this case was over. All we could do was speculate and talk about the case by purely guessing about the matter. We still don’t know for sure what this is all about, although it seems obvious enough that it is black/Mexican related. What else could it possibly be? When they said two counts of each of the two things they were charging me with, I figured one was for the blacks and one was for the Mexicans. Both Tom and Sharon think they’ll drop whatever this bullshit is about due to lack of evidence, but I don’t know. You just can’t count on anything anymore. The laws are so fucked up and life’s so unfair. Murderers go free while people who steal cigarettes do hard time. I think I’ll always have problems with the law/courts no matter what I do or where I go. A part of me wishes we’d moved out of state, though, cuz then they couldn’t extradite me for this shit and push it like they are! I really believe that I’m going to have to go to court practically every month for years and maybe even end up doing some time, if not, fined, put on probation and ordered into counseling. I had no idea what Andy meant when he warned me that people were worse out here. At the time I was like, but people are people anywhere. How much worse can they be? Well, they are worse. They’re much more sensitive out here and they can’t handle simple little reasonable requests like, “Would you please turn your music down.” That’s just asking way too much out here. I should’ve known better from the get-go, though, cuz anyone who plays music that loud obviously wants others to hear it and isn’t playing it just for themselves. Nobody needs music that loud just for themselves. Not even someone who was hard of hearing.

It’s one thing to know these people are going to get away with abusing me the way they did, but another to have to be punished like this for it! It really depresses, frustrates and downright infuriates me to know that all I can do is just sit back and take it, without defending myself or taking a stand for myself in any way, if someone decided to intrude upon my life again the way they did. There’s just no fighting back and even Tom said that sometimes you just have to take shit in life and you just can’t always get even. Yeah, I know as much I’d love to give Tammy a piece of my mind right now and ask how the fuck she can lie so much and claim I threatened her and her kids. But I can’t cuz the pathetic, lying, back-stabbing, two-faced bitch will just run to the cops about it. Why does everyone expect the cops/courts to fight their battles for them? Can’t they deal with their problems on their own? Such wimps people are!

Sharon said to fight back now.

Now? It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’ve already lost years of peace, time, money and freedom on account of these sickos, so if I couldn’t “fight back” and get these fucks out of my life for the last 4 years, then when is that ever going to happen?

I said, “Sharon, I did nothing wrong to these people and a person should have the legal right to speak their minds like I did under the freedom of speech laws. I’m their victim and I always will be.”

“No, no, no!” she then yelled. “You are not their victim, don’t let them get to you, you can beat this, you’ll be laughing at this someday, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger…”

But I don’t know about that. I feel like each time I have shit dumped on me by people, it only beats me down more. It deepens my lack of trust and my disgust for people in general. I feel totally defeated here. If these people had just let me live my life in peace, this wouldn’t be happening. They brought this on themselves.

I suppose Larry’s next to go to the cops and at his parents’ urging, too. I doubt any of the Massachusetts people will bother, but who knows? That’s what I thought about Bill. I thought he’d be too disgusted to hear my voice or read my mail and erase my messages and shred my letter up instantly, but nope. Even if you’re good with people, they still have a way of surprising you at times, but if I had sat and thought about it hard enough, I would’ve known better. He’s a very vindictive, venomous person.

Let me get into Tammy’s letter before I jump back to the freeloader case. She had the nerve to write to Tom asking for his help. Asking for his help! She needs to help herself and quit lying and fuck off and out of our lives for good. She wrote in the letter all about my trouble with the law in Springfield and Deerfield as if Tom didn’t already know about it, lied about my threatening her and the kids, and what I meant by saying she’s two-faced, is that now she loves Bill and is siding with him of all people. Yeah, she does this with her folks, too. One minute she hates them, the next she loves them. Well, as far as I last knew, she despised Bill. After all, isn’t he the one that’s supposed to have abused her and her kids? Well, now she fucking loves him. She writes about how I made threats against his life and now she’s oh so sorry for the poor little cock. Her brother’s the same way. He told me how he hated to hear about Bill’s “condition” from Tammy cuz he has a weak stomach, not that he doesn’t sympathize with the guy, but hey, shit happens, he said. But when I last talked to the lying hypocrite, he was madly in love with the “wonderful” guy who may have hit his kids only once or twice. Well, it wasn’t only once or twice, but hey, he can have him. They’re good for each other.

After Tom, who called Tammy at the number she wrote in the letter she sent to our old address, let the little bitch rant and rave and get things out of her pathetic system, he told her as he told me, “I don’t care at this point who’s lying and who’s telling the truth. You’re entitled to be the way you want to be and she’s entitled to be the way she wants to be, just don’t either of you have anything to do with each other anymore and there’ll be no more problems.”

Then after Tammy said that charges are forthcoming (like I’m really scared) she gets into her nicey-nicey act, saying how sorry she was she couldn’t have gotten to know Tom. Tom said, “Well that’s all well and good, but I never thought you two should have anything to do with each other and I don’t think Jodi should ever have anything to do with her parents ever again, either.”

Rest assured – I’d never have anything to do with them again even if I were paid a million bucks. All Tammy had to do was ignore my mail like Lisa obviously ignored my phone call when I was trying to reach her. She didn’t have to run to the cops with a pack of lies.

Tammy also told Tom that Bill went to court and it was none of my business.

Oh? Since when? She always made it my business before to tell me what was going on with Bill, and from what she told me, no he did not go to court or receive any punishment regarding his abusive behavior.

I don’t understand why this pathetic bitch suddenly worships and loves this guy. Why would she care who threatens him? Why would she want to side with something she’s supposed to despise for abusing her and her kids?

When I asked Tom why in the world he’d give Tammy the time of day by calling her, he said he did it for peace of mind so he wouldn’t become an accomplice cuz the phone’s in his name, but I don’t see how that’s relevant. It’s me she and the law are after. Not him. I’m the one that called Bill and my voice is on his machine. I guess he maybe felt he could calm her down and into backing off. Meanwhile, he says he’s got the letter and if need be he can use it in court to say that she asked for his “help,” asked to be called, and phone records will show that he only called her once upon her request for “help.” He called from the cell phone and I’m sure she’s got the number. He said so what if she does? He knows how to hang up if she calls again, and he won’t call her ever again, either.

I went through and destroyed every single one of Tammy and her kids’ pictures, along with the few I had remaining of Doe, Art and my grandparents, and I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t care what happens to Lisa from here on out any more than I do the rest of them. She can cut herself, kill herself, get beat up by her parents, and it’s her fucking problem. I will never try to look her up and if she tries to look me up, all she’ll get is rejection. I’ll just ignore her.

I still have a lot to write about concerning my latest misfortune, so I’ll get on with it, but before I do, here are some other tidbits of things going on.

I saw Carol on Hollywood Squares. She looked so-so.

The red pickup went by, but there were no Mexicans in the back of it. I thought I heard music coming from it, but I’m not sure. I’ve seen it go by quietly once or twice since I first mentioned it.

That 10” doll Marissa that I tried to get online is now in the Ashton-Drake catalog for the same price as Sacajawea and Pine Leaf – $125. I hope to get her someday.

Last night the dishwasher lost its mind and wouldn’t work cuz all the lights lit up randomly whenever I’d hit start, and I was like – thanks, God. Thanks for having the dishwasher break. You couldn’t have picked a better time. But Tom, my hero and genius, fixed it by unplugging it. I never would’ve thought to do that.

Anyway, I was made to take a shower while the guard left to do whatever, and was fucking freezing when I got out and dressed in my uniform! The guard was out in the hall when I stepped into it and she took me to get my picture taken and to be printed. They do that every time someone comes in, she told me. She did my prints on the computer and only inked my right thumb.

It was just before midnight when I was finally put in a holding cell with 3 other sleeping girls. I was amazed that they could sleep! The windowless room had one built-in bench with two women on it, and another woman lying on the floor by them. There was a toilet and sink with a 3’ wall in front of it and at the side of it. I lay down just outside the little toilet cubicle. There was no room for me anywhere else, anyway. I lay there staring up at the bright fluorescent lights and listening to the loud drone of the TV that was just one big echo. Because there was no carpeting anywhere, the sound bounced off the concrete walls and floor and you couldn’t make out any words coming from the obnoxiously loud thing that was obviously blaring to annoy the inmates and drown out anyone calling to the guards. It was the most uncomfortable night of my life laying there on that cold, hard concrete, wrapped in this itchy, woolly blanket, shivering my ass off! I swear they mean to freeze their guests! The AC ran continuously and it had to have gotten way down in the 60s in that little cell which was about 6x15. I struggled all night to find a comfortable position, but whether or not I lay on my side, back or belly, I was so uncomfortable!

I remember thinking – thank God I don’t smoke cuz I’d be dying for a cigarette!

At one point, one of the women awoke to pee right after I did. She was a tall, skinny woman in her late 30s who was in for beating her husband. Why she was in for beating him when she was the one with all the bruises, was beyond my comprehension. She was nice, although I could sense she had the potential to be capable of some pretty serious mood swings. I just knew there was an underlying tendency there. Again, although she was nice and gave me some of her soggy bologna and cheese sandwich, I wouldn’t want to be buddies with her.

Shortly after we began gabbing, the plump 21-year-old on the floor woke up and was very friendly. She gave me her bag of chips, although I couldn’t eat very many. We also very happily swapped blankets. She wanted mine cuz it was more solid, and although hers was rather holy, it was cotton instead of wool and much softer. Either way, I knew I’d be freezing. I’d have to have had a sweatshirt on and be wrapped in a comforter in order to have been warm in that place. Anyway, she was in for speeding and getting caught with pot in her car.

Eventually, the other one on the bench woke up. She was young and looked like a model and was in for theft. She said she went to court on the case two years ago, did all she was told to do about it and wasn’t sure why they were bringing it up now. Why are they bringing up the blacks and Mexicans to me now? It’s been over a year since the blacks moved and almost a year since we moved from the Mexicans.

So we gabbed like old friends having a slumber party for a while, till the door opened up at just after 4:00, and in came a black lady, but again, I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t nice. At this point, and to my utter amazement, I dozed off for a while, while the others went back to sleep and the off-brand stood standing by the door looking out the window. I couldn’t have slept for much more than an hour, and eventually, the off-brand wound up on the floor towards the back of the cell.

At around 6:00 we were awakened, and I was a bit crampy so the Mex guard who had about an hour left of her shift gave me something for it. Again, I was surprised that they’d give a damn enough to have Tylenol for their captives.

Around this time we were given forms to fill out. One of them was the same form R had me fill out. Another was about my financial status to determine whether or not I get a court-appointed lawyer. I said to myself, there’s no fucking way these blacks and Mexicans are going to cost us another dime and force me to spend hundreds if not thousands on them in court. I refuse to pay for a lawyer. If they won’t appoint me one, I’ll represent myself. However, here’s where the law surprisingly worked in my favor. I don’t work, and they can’t make Tom pay for a lawyer for me, I later found out, so I will be getting a court-appointed attorney. That is unless someone tells me differently and they’re the ones who turn out to be right.

About a half-hour, after they got us up we were brought out into the main room where I was first brought in to. I thought I was going to be brought to Phoenix at this time, but instead, the judge was behind the counter and each of us had to go up, turn in our forms and hear our charges for the twentieth time, then sign a paper with my court date which is for this Friday. Again, I tried to find out who was launching the complaint and all the snot said was that it was out of Maricopa County, which is Phoenix (Maricopa is Pinal County). I already knew that but who prompted Maricopa County to file the damn charges? I’m still pretty sure it’s just old news that fucking Tammy and Bill had to dredge up and rehash – freeloaders. Defendants have more rights than victims, I reminded myself (even though I’m the true victim), so maybe that’ll help, but who knows? Life is so unfair and the law is so fucked up that for all I know, I may end up in jail for 10 years. I asked Tom if he’d wait for me if that happened. He surprisingly said that of course he would. How sweet. I’d do the same for him too, although God knows how I’d survive and where I’d live while he was gone.

After seeing the judge, we were put back in the holding cell. At this point, I started to wonder if I’d be stuck there till Friday and if Tom thought I was in Phoenix.

We were only in the cell for about 20 minutes, when we were given a food sack. A brown paper bag with the same soggy sandwiches, chips, crackers, an orange, and milk. I ate none of it.

After another 20 minutes or so of sitting in there, the day staff took us upstairs. Boy, was I nervous upon going up there! Again, I just didn’t know what I was walking into! However, once again it was not like in the movies. No one threatened, let alone harmed me in any way, and I was shocked to see the guards chatting pleasantly with some of the inmates. There was a black woman guard and a Mexican woman guard. We entered a big room with about 6 round tables bolted to the floor. There were about 20-30 inmates there. There was the staff’s station and a lower and upper row of two-person cells.

I was assigned to a lower cell with a 6’, skinny white butchy looking girl named Joy who was a couple of years younger than me. I was shocked when she told me she had been married for 14 years and had 4 kids. Again, she was very friendly and even helpful. She gave me the numbers you have to dial first in order to place a collect call, although it was written on the phone. This saved me time, though.

She also told me I could help myself to the library books she picked out (she had my taste in books). I was shocked to learn that they come around with carts of books. I mean, I just didn’t think they’d care about supplying their prisoners with things to occupy their time.

A lot of the women hung out in the main room, but as Joy said, she preferred to sleep and read in the cell. That’s exactly what I would have done if I hadn’t had someone like Tom to rescue me and bond me out.

She showed me where the semi-private shower stall was and said inmates could shower anytime.

She was on the bottom bunk and said she’d take the top, which I was afraid of cuz it was so high if she didn’t have dizzy spells like she said she did. I asked the guard when she came in to give Joy a broom to sweep the cell with if there were any lower bunks available cuz I was afraid of heights. She said there wasn’t, but that I could take the mattress and lay it on the floor, so I did. Well, Joy did. It was a little high up for me to pull down at my height.

The cell was about 6x8 feet and had bunk beds, a metal table, a metal chair extending from the wall like shelves, a little sink above a toilet just like in the holding cells, and a shelf. Also, just like in the holding cell, there was an aluminum mirror bolted to the wall. Because of my eye for detail and excellent memory, I can remember a lot.

When I first got upstairs, the phones weren’t on yet. Meaning that they were dangling by their cords. Prisoners can only make calls during certain hours. Believe it or not, I dozed off for a few minutes on the mattress on the floor while I was waiting for the phones to be in use. It was much more comfortable than concrete but not nearly as comfortable as an airbed with a foam pad!

Also, when I first went up there, I had to shit so bad, yet had such a hard time doing it like I did when I first came in having to pee, cuz my nerves were all jangled up. Nerves really mangle up my stomach. Joy was kind enough to turn her back towards me so I could squeeze out my runny shit in some privacy.

Joy wanted me to see if Tom and I could spring her bond of $200 (she was in for writing bad checks) and in exchange, she’d let us buy her new Chevy Blazer for $1000, saying she and her husband had two other cars. She said she’d give us the title that day and that we could make payments at our leisure. I said I’d try, but I knew better than to get involved or trust her that much. She was pleasant enough to deal with in jail, but again, not my type to do business or friendship with.

I never followed through on Sandra’s request, either. She’s the older, potentially nutty woman who sort of reminded me of Ellie whom I was in the holding cell with. She was assigned to a cell a couple of doors down from me. Out in the main room, she gave me numbers to see if I could call her family to get them to bond her out. It’s not that I didn’t care or feel sorry for her, knowing how uncomfortable jail is, but I just didn’t want to get involved. I had my own problems to deal with.

Unless they decide to lock you down, or it’s nighttime, you can come and go from your cell as you please. You just flash the light switch in your cell so the guard can hit your door release from the station, and then you give a yell when you want back in your cell (you can’t open the cell doors from inside or outside).

As soon as I saw the phones were hung up and available for use, I called here at the house. Tom answered, but he was in Florence. He had forwarded the calls to the cell phone. He said he was taking care of the bond and that I’d be out in about an hour. It was a little hard to hear him with the echo of the women’s chatter in the background. I was amazed I could even doze off through it, but it was like one big continuous noise, sort of like a fan’s motor. In fact, as exhausted as I was, I had to shake myself awake enough to make the call, cuz at this time, I still wasn’t sure if Tom even knew where I was, but he later told me he was up all night keeping track of where I was.

No one bothered me while I was on the phone. Only one pleasant-looking inmate spoke to me after I made my call, suggesting I put my shoes on since I was walking barefoot on a gross county floor. I had stumbled out barefoot, so damn tired. I went back and got my sandals, anyway. I was surprised to see this woman wearing a beaded cross necklace. Since when are you allowed to wear jewelry in jail?

I had hoped to finish this sorry story before court tomorrow, but I’m just too beat. I’m gonna shower, read, finish the rest of a movie I taped, then hope to get some decent sleep before having to leave tomorrow morning between 7:30 and 8:00. For now I’ll just say there’s a chance I could get rearrested tomorrow upon going to court, but Tom said that he’d bail me out. Well, that’s really nice of him, but if I wished someone would kill Bill and all the freeloaders before, I really wish it now, those mother-fucking assholes!!!!! They’ve really made my life a living hell. Please, God, let what goes around come around!!! Please, please, be fair for once!!! Let justice finally be served and get these losers off my back and out of my life for good!!!!!!

I was thinking the other day about how I needed more things to write about in my journal, that not enough was happening to write about, and life was dull and boring a lot lately. I’d find myself wanting to write when there was simply nothing to write about. Well, rest assured – I have plenty to write about now. And as is usually the case when I have a lot to write, it’s not good news. Not at all. Let’s just say that the freeloaders are still living a few feet away from us. They may as well be. They’re very much a part of my life like they were in Phoenix. I’m never going to be free of these sick fucks – never! If I had a gun I’d be off to shoot every one of them dead because I know that I’m always going to be a victim of these shitfucks no matter where we go or what we do. Always with me, always with them. That’s how I said it was in Phoenix, and believe me, it’s still that way in Maricopa. I just can’t hear their music or non-stop yelling anymore. They may not trash our yard anymore either, but these animals are always going to control and even own me, for that matter. When is it ever going to be over with these people? When are they ever going to be in my past and out of my life for good? Never? Probably. First they stole my peace and now they’re stealing my time, freedom and money! These people are always going to be a part of my life and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it! There’s no defending myself. They can have the city give them a free house to turn into a drug house and they can make my life a living hell at my own expense, yet there’s nothing I can do to them or to at least get them off my ass and out of my life! What the fuck is this world coming to when people can rule the lives of innocent people that never did a damn thing to them other than politely ask them to turn their music down, then yell at them about it and threaten to have them evicted cuz they just wouldn’t shut up and leave them alone? I never told them I was going to kill them or anything like that. The closest I ever came to threatening them was to say that I wished someone would kill them and do us and society a favor.

Let me start at the beginning, although none of us are certain at this point exactly what’s going on. I may not write the whole story in one sitting. This is not a pleasant experience/subject to write about and there’s a ton of shit to say, so I may do it in spurts.

The freeloaders are trying to frame me and to just “get me,” so to speak, and it all may have started with Tammy. There’s a good chance that if it wasn’t for my dear old sister, I never would’ve gone through what I went through and am still going through. Here’s what happened from beginning to end, although the end has yet to come and I doubt it will any time soon.

Tom was watching TV and I was at the computer when there was a knock on the front door. As I went to the door, I could see a cruiser out front, so I doubled back towards the den and told Tom, I didn’t do anything, don’t tell them I’m here. Sure enough, though, I could hear the cop ask for me when Tom opened the door. Tom asked what was up, but the cop wouldn’t say anything. He just insisted he talk to me and that’s when Tom came and got me and said I had to come out. So I did, cuz I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to stay in the house and appear uncooperative. A uniformed Mexican cop was with a white plainclothes detective. One cop car this time. Not half a dozen.

The first thing he asks me, besides to see my ID, was if I knew Tammy and had written to her. I was stunned to hear Tammy’s name. When I first saw the cruiser, my first thought was that it had to do with Larry, Ronnie, Bill, Jenny, or the freeloaders were saying I did something I didn’t do. The cop said Tammy was complaining about my writing threatening letters and the reason I was shocked was that I never wrote one threatening word to her. To Bill and the others I did, but I didn’t think she’d complain on behalf of them. Why would she care what happened to these people? The only reason I can think of as to why she’s doing this is that it’s out of spite because I wouldn’t resume a relationship with her or give her our number or address, although I’m still sure that somehow, somewhere, she knows it. I’m sure everyone I ever knew in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Florida knows all about the ordeal I went through and am going to be going through for God knows how many years. Anyway, I was very shocked to hear him mention Tammy, cuz even if I did write Tammy a threatening letter which I never had any desire or reason to do so, she’s not the type to call the cops on me. I’ve done worse things than ignore her in the past yet she never called the cops on me before. She never called them when we’d get into our screaming matches over the phone like we would when I was in my 20s.

Once again, when it comes to letters, it’s my constitutional right to write whatever the hell I damn so please, be it threatening, racist, or whatever. It’s called freedom of speech, and until and if I acted on a threat, no one can prove me guilty of anything and I don’t care what our fucked up laws say. I did not do anything wrong as far as I’m concerned. Not to the people back east, not to the blacks, not to the Mexicans. A woman, whom I’ll get into in a little bit, told me a guy had been terrorizing this neighborhood for 20 years. Then one day the bully told this guy he was gonna do his wife and daughter and the guy shot him for it. Although he had to go through the legal bullshit, he was acquitted cuz it was judged that any normal person would react the way he did if they were in his situation. So, to say someone’s an asshole, or to say racial slurs, is freedom of speech. And to say I’d like to slit the throat of my niece’s abuser, is a perfectly natural statement for any aunt to make, although I don’t believe those were my exact words. Mostly what I said was that if I had been there when he was beating the shit out of Lisa, I’d have kicked the shit out of him for it. Who wouldn’t say something like that? So, all in all, perhaps it was a stupid waste of time to throw the bottle into the carport when the blacks lived there, and yell at the Mexicans when they got noisy, and send pictures, tapes and letters to people who don’t give a damn and who will always be the way they are, but I did nothing wrong.

Anyway, I told the cop I wrote her a letter congratulating her on her marriage after not speaking to her for a while cuz we were so different. I didn’t get into how I told Tammy that although I felt we were just too different to resume regular contact by phone and mail, I still wished her the best in life. Trust me, though, anything with the last name O or G will never hear from me again by phone or mail. These people have never been anything but a source of negativity and problems for me anyway, and I’ve already forgotten about looking Lisa up when she’s on her own. Even if she did want to talk to me, I think it would be a very bad idea. It’ll just lead to problems for me and maybe problems for her as well, and we don’t need it. I only wanted to send the pictures to show off and I could kick myself for it. What a stupid waste of time! Like they give a shit? Like that changes anything that’s happened? Like that’ll change anything in the future? No, it won’t change the past or the future, cuz I knew the day I dumped these people that I’d never resume my old relationships with them after 32 years of lies, abuse and control, so I should never have bothered lowering myself to sending pictures to people who just don’t care and who have hurt me time and time again, year after year. Think about it, I said to myself, would you care if they sent you pictures of their houses and pets? No, I wouldn’t give a damn. Tom had said that it was nice of me to send Andy mail to let him know I was still alive but was it? No, it was a complete waste of time. He couldn't care less if I were alive. He’s not hurt that I dumped him, he’s pissed, and therefore, he couldn't care less about anything that’s going on in my life, and once again, I don’t hate Andy, but I don’t give a shit what’s going on his life or else I’d have kept in contact with him. And I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t care anymore what happens to Lisa. She, just like her parents, uncle and grandparents, is a closed chapter in my life.

How the fuck did Tammy get the cops out to talk to me about a letter, anyway? I couldn’t get the cop I called to talk to Larry about his harassment. The cop I spoke to didn’t want to help me cuz of how far away I was, and only after I pleaded with him did he say he’d call him, but I know he never did. I just can’t get away with shit, and even when I’m 100% innocent I still get in trouble. Before I know it, I’ll be arrested for some stranger’s murder in Alaska!

Back to what happened – the cop came, mentioned Tammy, asked for ID, then said they were waiting on confirming a warrant that was issued on June 27th. The warrant, though, has nothing to do with Tammy. Tammy’s call just prompted the cops to notice I had a warrant on me, but I’m not sure what the warrant’s for or what the charges are all about. I just don’t get it. Meanwhile, like Tom said, most people with warrants on them never get picked up and eventually the statute of limitations runs out on them. It figures I’d just have to get picked up on mine. Totally figures. I’m as cursed with the law as I am with sex and other things. Why the warrant went out in June, though, has me confused. No one’s leveling with us and telling us the whole story of what’s going on till we go to court, and even then I may not fully know. All I can guess is that the freeloaders accused me of being a gang member or a gang associate, but why this is coming out now, I’m still not sure. And all this over loud music? Fuck! These people are some seriously sick twists and I hope to hell that someone else kills them. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea. I’d get accused and go down for whoever killed them.

I know mail crimes are felonies, and later learned that threatening by itself is a misdemeanor while threatening by being associated with gangs or through the mail is a felony, which makes no sense to me, but when does are screwy system ever make sense? So, because the warrant was for a felony, I wasn’t just in and out of jail after talking about the case. I don’t know why we had to wait for the warrant to be confirmed, but anyway, while we were waiting, the detective was asking Tom about the well, the land, etc. When the warrant was confirmed, Officer R, the uniformed cop, said I was under arrest, and the normal way to do that is to handcuff people in back, but he was going to let me ride uncuffed. 

At that point I was like, I don’t believe this fucking shit! I never wrote threats to Tammy! When the guy told Tom the bond was set at just over 2 G’s, I nearly freaked. I’m not a lawyer, so I didn’t know that bond, which is the same thing as bail, is not quite what it seems. Yes, his mom could’ve paid the full 2 G’s to spring me out, and yes, we would’ve gotten that money back after court, but Tom said he’d rather pay the non-refundable fee of $266 to a bond company in order to get me out sooner. I didn’t know all you needed to pay was 10% of your bond. Why I had to go through all this when they could’ve just given me a court date makes no sense to me. I guess someone just had to make a buck off of me, and God and the state, county, whoever…felt they had to punish me by inconveniencing me and making me quite uncomfortable. Also, I guess that’s just what they do in felony cases, but with misdemeanors, they just give subpoenas.

So I got in the back of the cruiser and Tom was being very supportive, telling me not to worry and that he was gonna jump on the phone to make phone calls. See, I was under the impression that I was going to Florence, then to Phoenix in the morning, cuz the warrant was out of Phoenix, which told me it was freeloader-related and not about letters to anyone back east. A million things were going through my mind. Did the snobby Mr. Biased lie to me when he said it was over that day in January? Was there some kind of computer error? Did someone forget to put it into notation that it was resolved that day? Was I being mistaken for someone else? I later learned that Mr. Biased probably left the black/Mexican case as an open investigation and that Tammy and Bill’s complaints probably caused the case to be reactivated, because it had only been 6 months since Mr. Biased hauled me in, and the statute of limitations on it hadn’t run out yet. So in other words, just when I thought I was finally free of these blacks and Mexicans, I’m being dragged through the mud on account of these fucked up blacks and Mexicans after they harassed me, all because I spoke my mind about my niece to her abuser and sent my sister pictures. What a wonderful world we live in.

It was one thing when they hauled me in about the prank phone calls. It was clean-cut and simple; I knew what I was there for, I did it, I knew what was going on, etc. But when you haven’t got a clue as to what the fuck they mean when they say you’ve got two counts of intimidation and stalking, it’s really mind-boggling. Who the fuck am I supposed to have intimidated? And who the fuck could this homebody out in the middle of a 10-acre ranch in the middle of nowhere be stalking? I couldn’t stalk someone if I wanted to. How the fuck would I get around to doing it when I don’t drive? And like I’m really associated with gangs? Yeah, right! I’m associated with the president and with all the celebrities in Hollywood, too. The only thing I can think of as to what the hell these charges could mean is, well, they say two counts of each. Must be one for the blacks and one for the Mexicans. How they come up with stalking, I can only begin to guess. When I think of “stalking,” I think of following someone, but they may see the journal notes where I’d spy on them and log their activities as stalking. Who knows? I just want these fucking sick assholes out of my life for good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we take off and then Officer R, who’s driving, drops the detective off about half a mile away (we left the house by heading towards Meadow Green, opposite next door). Then we continued on to Maricopa’s substation across from Circle K. On the way in, we exchanged a little Spanish and talked a little about Tammy and the neighbors, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me much detail. All he said was my problems with the old neighbors weren’t resolved. I knew I should’ve gotten it in writing that it was resolved! And who knows if it’s written anywhere that it was resolved? If Mr. Biased hates whites, who knows? I shouldn’t have trusted him when he said it was resolved that day. There was something funny about him, and I’ve learned that cops can’t be trusted. Here I was, amazed that God let me get out of having to go to court for the blacks or the Mexicans when he never lets me get away with anything, yet what happens? Almost a year after we move, I’ve got to go to court cuz of these sick fucks. These sick fucks who instigated shit with me and who harassed and victimized me. They do what they did to me and yet I’m the one who has to go to jail and court! I just hope to hell that all’s fair in the afterlife if there is such a thing and that God will set them straight and give them what they deserve when their time comes, cuz it sure as shit ain’t happening in this life.

We were the only ones at the substation. I was taken into a room where he did some paperwork and had me fill out a questionnaire form saying where I’d go if I were released, where I worked, where my closest relatives are, what illness or health problems might I have, etc. He looked at my license and said I came out good. That was before I quit smoking and got fat, I told him, and he said it was good I at least quit smoking. At one point I asked if he could put in a good word for me, although I didn’t know if it’d do me any good, and he teased me about telling them I kicked and bit him. God, I hope he was just joking! You just never know what cops are gonna do or say.

I was amazed at how trusting he was. He let me go to the bathroom myself, although I was too tensed up to go, and left me alone in the room I was in a few times. Then, after we left there, he gassed up at Circle K, and left me alone to get us snacks! I wasn’t cuffed and these doors had inside handles in back, too. He said he was going to get chips and asked if I minded. I said no, then he asked if I had any money. Again I said no, and he asked if I wanted anything. I said I’d appreciate a Snickers and he got me one.

“I don’t usually get snacks for my prisoners,” he said.

I saw Jennifer, the one with the great body and ugly face, in the store while I was waiting. She does still work there, after all. Either that or she quit or was fired for a while. Or maybe I just kept missing her.

So once we got our snacks, he played the radio a bit and we headed for Florence, a very small, scummy town where all the prisons are. They have several complexes; for those who’ve been convicted, those on DUI charges or convictions, and the county jail, where I was taken to. He didn’t take me all the way, though. A white skinhead took me part of the way, and he too, was nice. In fact, I was amazed at how nice everyone was. I thought I was gonna be abused, or at least encounter some serious rudeness, from both staff and prisoners where I was going, but I didn’t. The only one who was rude and snobby, but that’s the way they’re supposed to be, was the judge. He was cold and abrupt and anxious to be done talking to me as quickly as possible.

Later...

I’m tight, congested, and my allergies are acting up a little. Ironically, my lungs and nose were fine in jail. I still think a big source of my problems is the animals. That and things outdoors.

What a fucking back-stabbing, two-faced liar my sister has become! I mean, I always knew she was a liar, but she’s never been this vindictive. I know it’s all because I don’t have regular contact with her. I know our relationship was important to her. All I did was send her pictures, call a few times with the hopes of reaching Lisa, and defend her and her kids to her ex, telling him what any normal person would, yet now she fucking loves him, is sticking up for him, and saying I threatened her and her kids. I never threatened her and I certainly didn’t threaten the kids, and I never had any reason to, but let’s get back to where I left off about last night’s ordeal before I get into the Tammy and Bill details.

The bald cop put cuffs on in front so I’d be entering the jail cuffed and he wouldn’t get in trouble. I entered a large room with a few metal benches, a TV, and a long counter with the staff behind it. There weren’t many white staff members. Mostly blacks and Mexicans. Mostly women, too. They wore black pants with stripes along the side, similar to a cop’s uniform, and gray T-shirts. Some said “Sheriff” on back and some said “Detention.”

Surprisingly, all the women in the holding cell were white except for one. And they were so normal, too. Just your average, everyday people like me, although for the most part, it’s fair to say I’m not your average everyday person. How many people sing, draw, sign, teach themselves foreign languages, have sexually defunct partners, sterility, and an ear like mine? I could go on and on with the things I have or don’t have that aren’t the norm, but I won’t.

I arrived at the jail at 10:30 PM and shortly after I asked to go to the bathroom. They let me walk a few yards down by myself to go to a semi-private toilet. No one could’ve seen me if they walked by the doorway to this room, but if they had stepped into the room and around the wall I was behind, they could’ve seen me. It was an effort to pee, that’s how tense I was. It wouldn’t just effortlessly trickle out like it usually does when it starts. I had to squeeze it out by tightening my muscles and pushing like you do when you’re having a hard time shitting. I was really nervous for other reasons when I first entered this room. I saw that they had an exam table which was obviously used to make sure no one was hiding anything up their crotches. I thought, oh no! Just what I need, tense or not, in jail or not, but luckily, no one ever made me have an exam.

I waited on a bench for almost an hour. There were a few Mexican males on the benches, too. One chatted with me and told me he beat up his brother-in-law. He was friendly and polite, despite his scummy looks and the fact that I would never want to be friends with him. It was freezing in there and he gave me his blanket to wrap around me. He was already in uniform and with the things they give you.

At the counter, they asked me if I had ever tried to commit suicide and if I was thinking about it and I lied and said no. They asked me about illnesses and I told them I had asthma. I tried to find out more about who filed charges against me but they just stated the charges. I made a comment like, “Yeah right, like I really look intimidating? And a big black officer that sort of reminded me of Fat Albert said I did look intimidating and the other officers that were in earshot giggled. I said, “That’s a first,” but I knew he was joking.

So I sat on the bench and waited. During this time, a staff lady, who was actually kind of nice, I must admit, changed the TV channel by remote from behind the counter and upped the already very loud volume. At about 11:30, she took me to the room where the toilet was and further back into the room where there was a long built-in bench and a shower stall. She had me get into an orange prison uniform and told me I couldn’t keep my underwear if they weren’t plain white. My bra was plain white, but I figured I’d be more comfortable without it, so I gave her my bra and leopard print panties, even though I had my period and she didn’t offer me a tampon. Why do I always have to have my period when I get arrested, I thought! Fine, I also thought, don’t give me a tampon. I’ll just bleed all over your uniform, but I didn’t. I wiped when I got the chance to and was lying down most of the time. So she put me in uniform and took my dress, bra, panties, license, and hair elastic, but surprisingly, she let me keep my inhaler. Along with the uniform, I was given a box containing a towel, a blanket, and plastic sandals. They didn’t give me any food cuz I came in so late, but I wasn’t the least bit hungry. Being thrown in jail on account of the people that badgered and abused you kind of sucks up your appetite. In fact, because of the assholes back east and the assholes I used to live next to, I’m two pounds away from my dream premonition, which means I weigh 117 pounds.

The phone’s out again. What is it with these stupid, incompetent cocks cutting lines around here? Can’t they do anything right?

We screwed yesterday. It was the usual, but damn did my crotch hurt! This endless curse God’s put on my crotch just won’t go away. The opening stung and bled when he went in me like it sometimes does, but this was way worse than usual.

I changed my mind about walking on the walker. It’s pointless to do so when I can elevate my heartbeat enough on the Bowflex, as long as I row quickly.

Anyway, my allergies are going off again, as usual. It’s come to be nearly an everyday thing now, partly thanks to Tom. Since the phone was out, I typed him a piece of mind and it goes like this:

It’s pretty ironic how my allergies have gotten worse since you decided you had to trash your office after you promised you wouldn’t and that you would wait till we got sheds/workshop before you went trashing things. Anyway, as always, you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do and to hell with me unless it was a matter of life and death.

During any of the times you were taking breaks over the weekend to play computer games, did you ever think to check eBook rules or order that CD? No, or else you’d have told me and this is exactly what I mean by your thinking of you first and being as selfish as I am, only in different ways. I’m sure you know what I mean by this, but in case you don’t – if you wanted my tits bigger, I’d do everything I could to get them that way, even though bigger tits are the last thing I want. It seems like 95% of the time you’ll only do things for me or with me as long as it suits you, interests you, or has anything in it for you in any way. I hope you’ll remember to make my appointment or give me the number to make one myself.

It’s up to you what you do about the eBook rules, but here’s a reminder – you sat and watched me cry for years, begging for you to go to a doctor, begging for your support, while you made one lame excuse after another, therefore, I’m entitled to a $10 CD every now and then, don’t you think? I’m not asking for a $300 doll right now, or a $200 CD changer, or even a $75 mural.

Also, when I suggested sleeping together on weekends and you went into the big spiel about it, I knew right then and there you didn’t want to do it when all you had to do was say no. am I that hard to say no to? You said to think about it and a week later I told you I had thought about it, was still OK with it, and asked you where you stood on the idea and you said you hadn’t thought about it. Well, if you hadn’t thought about it, then it’s obviously not important to you, but again, you could’ve been upfront about it and told me that for whatever your reasons may be, you weren’t interested in sleeping together on weekends. Why is it that the more I want to do something, the less you want to? Why is it that you’re too OK with knowing my beliefs and opinions about you? If I were you and my wife thought I was lying about things that I wasn’t lying about, I’d want to do everything I could to prove this to her. Not seemingly go out of my way to prove her right! And don’t try to tell me you haven’t thought of sleeping together on a weekend cuz we moved. It won’t work. We’ve been here for 6½ months already.

As much as I love a million things about you, I don’t think I can ever forget how I once said I wanted a kid, which you said you wanted too, yet you wouldn’t do a damn thing to help us achieve this. You couldn’t have said to yourself – we’ve done it my way for this long, so I can at least compromise and do it her way for a little while, but no. It all had to be your way. Things still turned out for the better and it was important for us to get out of Phoenix, cuz Phoenix was getting to me and Phoenix isn’t a great place to raise kids nowadays, but God help me should old feelings/desires return, for all I’d get is the same lack of support, lies, and lame excuses as to why you couldn’t do your part, even out here where the air’s cleaner, people are safer, and there are no assholes a few feet away to live with/deal with 48/7. God’s done enough on his own to control me and limit my choices in life. I never needed you to lend him a helping hand. You can keep me under your thumb and control me if you insist on doing so since there’s obviously not a damn thing I can do to stop you and you can keep your office trashed, but meanwhile, I want the CD in exchange.