Here I go again with the mid-cycle spotting, which I’ll probably have to put up with for the next two weeks or so.

I’m also pretty sick of not shitting for a few days, then shitting 3 times to make up for each day I didn’t shit. Can’t I just shit once every day? Damn! Even that’s too much to ask for. I’ve been stuck more often lately, since hitting down around 115 pounds. The lower my weight gets, the more I get stuck. My body’s still totally rebellious against being 115 or under. If I got down to 110, I’d probably be stuck for 5 days at a time!

More snake sightings today. In fact, I got great pictures. Probably the best ever. It was that black one again, but I don’t know if it was the same one we saw yesterday. This one seemed bigger, like the very first one I saw. It was closer to 5’. It came right up to the front of the house and I shot some real close-up shots of it from the top of the front stairs. It looked right at me and poked its head along the bottom edge of the skirting, looking for a way under the house. I could see its forked tongue, too. Then it slowly journeyed towards the bedroom side of the house.

Later...

Bad news. Dan’s back. So soon? I was hoping he wouldn’t be back till October or even November, but I should’ve known better. Just as predicted, he let us know he was back the minute he pulled in by gunning his engine. I’m virtually certain he just pulled in, too. So now I gotta sit and listen to the engine-gunning 2-3 times a week, along with his music, till next Memorial Day – aaaarrrrgggghhhh! And it’s so much like bass, too. It’s a low, loud, vibrant engine that’s totally grating. Even in this house with its 6” walls and dual-paned windows, you really gotta crank the volume up on the tunes pretty loud in order to drown out its penetrating sound. I was sitting in bed reading with the retreat door shut when he came gunning in. I could hear it perfectly loud and clear too, even with the air cleaner up high. At first I thought it was the motorcycle till I realized it sounded exactly like Dan’s engine guns. I looked towards his property and for a while I didn’t see any movement, then I saw someone walking around. Tom said someone’s been checking up on the place regularly. And gunning engines in a Dan-like fashion? Well, two things will tell us if he’s back, even though I know he is; lights on in the house tonight, and an open gate. If the gate to his driveway’s open, he’s back. Tom will have to check the gate on his way to work tomorrow morning, cuz we can’t see it from the house. I know he’s back, though, those engine guns had Dan’s name written all over them, and Memorial Day through Labor Day is the typical time to be gone if you’re going anywhere for the summer.

Yes, we’re coming into a 3-day weekend that I don’t have to dread as far as assholes that are 3’ away, but I do expect to hear some music from Dan, the renters and car stereos. I just thank God I can get 3 months a year off from Dan, and I also thank God that motorcycle’s not 3’ away cuz they’re even louder than Dan’s trucks. They’re the loudest of them all and I’m thoroughly surprised God didn’t stick one of those next to me in Phoenix. What a nightmare, on top of the nightmare I was already dealing with, that would’ve been!

Later...

I thought I was done journaling for the month, but nope. I’m just bummed that Dan’s back, although there certainly could be much much worse things to be bummed about than that, and I’m the first to admit it. Last year he didn’t start with the music and engine-gunning till after we got in the house, thank God, so maybe he’ll be quiet till January, but I don’t vibe it. I think he’ll be much worse this year, and I think the renters will get more and more musical, to the tune of more boom car stereos, although that’s presently simmered down. I’ve only seen the pickup once in the last week or two and its stereo is still busted. Nonetheless, I think this will be a much noisier winter than the last one. Especially if they’re not going to be booming in the sky. I think that motorcycle, which I knew the renters could only be buying and not selling, will be a regular nuisance, too. But it’s a noisy world out there. Nothing I can do about it. On the other hand, there’s still a chance I may not even be here during the winter, in which case it’d be pretty quiet. Noise goes where I go. So much so that I’m still a bit shocked God didn’t throw a kid on us as soon as we met. I must really be a wimp who could never handle pregnancy, childbirth and rearing a kid, despite the fact that I’ve always known, for as far back as I can remember, that a kid was never meant to be. I just don’t understand why these kinds of people would want to live out here. Why live where your music can reach a half dozen to a dozen houses when you can live where it can reach hundreds? Then again, sound doesn’t travel as far in the city because there’s more built up to block the sound. Even so, what are they doing out here if they want to put on a show?

One of the renters was barbecuing just after dark, but they were quiet. I couldn’t tell which house was barbecuing. Fortunately, they’re still far enough away that I can’t make out much detail. I still can’t tell for sure which house the new renters are in and if our old ones are still there. I’m starting to think they really did move out in that U-Haul. Anyway, I’d bet Bailey on Dan blasting off this weekend, and both Bailey and Jade on the renters blasting off. For them to blast off on which was probably their first weekend here, tells me they’re likely to do it every weekend, and maybe weekdays at times, too.

No, not long at all. Found the cow mouse dead today.

Five mice left.

I seem to have lost my willpower again to stick to roughly 1000 calories per day. I hope I get it back soon, cuz I’m up to 116 pounds, but this is where I had trouble holding down my weight the last time. The last time, it was a real struggle to keep from going over 115, and it was impossible to keep my weight down at 110. So, what I’m saying is, given my age and all that, I really don’t think I’m going to be able to lose any more weight, and if I did, I couldn’t keep from gaining it right back. I think this is it, and that I should move into the maintain status, but I’ll be stubborn about it for a little while longer. If I’m still approximately the same weight come October 1st, then I’ll allow myself 1200-1400 calories a day to maintain the 115.

Today we’ve had thunder and lots of cloud coverage, but no rain yet. Tom said that yesterday’s rain washed next door’s driveway out. I was wondering why they’d pull out from the service road we use as a driveway, in between our properties.

I forgot to mention this, for whatever it’s worth, but another way I know the freeloaders didn’t read my mail is because of how fast she ditched me as soon as she knew it was me calling her. She heard my voice and she couldn’t even handle that. So, if she couldn’t handle listening to me, she couldn’t handle reading something I wrote.

Nonetheless, it amazes me how Tom’s always been there for me. He doesn’t always make me feel better, especially if we argue about whatever’s going on, but he’s been there for me and that’s what matters. Everyone else tried to pawn me off to somebody else or something else. The folks couldn’t deal with me and had to pawn me to camps, funny farms, etc. Andy couldn’t deal with my problems either and had no problem admitting this. Jenny C couldn’t handle me. Tom’s the only one to stick with me through thick and thin. He’s there for me during my ups and downs. Not just when he feels like it or when I happen to be having my ups. He’s not the emotional wimp 95% of the people I’ve dealt with were and no doubt still are and always will be. The only area, as I’ve said a thousand times before, that I feel Tom’s not supportive of me is when it comes to sex/kid. I still feel he’s been stringing me along with both legit and lame excuses along the way. I also feel he’s never had a shred of empathy for what I went through in the 90s with wanting a kid. It may be hard to fully empathize with someone in a situation you can’t possibly relate to, but he should’ve had some empathy. He empathizes with me if I don’t feel well, and about anything else, but that. Are all men like this? Do they all have no empathy for women when it comes to women’s issues? Is this just a man’s way or do they just not care?

For about 10 minutes, a baby black snake hung out under a little dead bush just across the wash. Got a good shot of it, too. This one was only about 3 feet long and I doubt it was the same snake I first saw. It was so brave, too. Either that or it just knew I wasn’t a threat to it. I probably could’ve walked right up to it. It never flinched, let alone coiled to strike. I got within 3-4 feet of it, not wanting to scare it off. I was hoping it’d sit out there all day till Tom got home to see it, but nope. It slithered off into the brush where Scuttles is buried. Near where we saw the one with markings.

Later...

The snake came out again after Tom got in, so we both went out to see it. We think the one we saw with markings was a king snake and we think this one was a coachwhip, judging by how swiftly it ran from us. I blame Tom for that one, saying he’s the one that scared it because it didn’t like the way he smelled and because he walked in front of it instead of towards the side of it like I did. We both agreed it was kind of cute. I thought it was especially cute the first time I saw it, the way it stopped as it was moving and stuck its head up to look around, just like a dog, cat or rodent would do, before moving on again.

Last night I packed away my journals (my non-electronic ones, excluding typed sheets) in 5 of the boxes we used to move with. They were doing nothing but taking up shelf space and collecting dust, so I thought it was about time I stored them away.

Tom called and talked to Mary, who sounded horrible. They found a lump in her throat, so they went in and took a sample of it to find out if it was cancerous. Oh, how I pity that poor woman! Imagine the pain she’s going through! She said it hurts really bad and swallowing is painful. They went down her throat to cut a sample out, but if it is cancerous, they’ll have to cut her throat to get at it. Yuck! I think I’d rather die.

Later...

I was just watching a segment on hate groups – skinheads, white supremacists, Aryan groups, etc. The show centered around an all-white town that harassed and even killed minorities that moved in. What pissed me off about the show was that it was presented in such a one-sided way. Yes, those minorities that get their property vandalized or that end up beaten or killed for no reason whatsoever, I feel for. I totally sympathize with them. However, they neglected to mention the flip side of things. It’s a two-way street, as far as I’m concerned. What about the minorities that move in and terrorize the neighborhood? Giving the people the same thing we got from the freeloaders we had to live with, and all for no apparent reason, without being provoked in any way? What about the freeloaders that bring drugs, violence, loud music and all kinds of violence into the neighborhood? What about those who ask for what they get, who push people who just want to live in peace, mind their own business and be left alone? What about those that continually push shit down innocent people’s throats? They mention the scum getting killed, but they fail to say why it got killed. It got killed cuz it killed first, or cuz it harassed its neighbors for years. Yeah, poor, poor freeloaders. Some may believe two wrongs don’t make a right, but I believe in “an eye for an eye…and so do a lot of other people.” This is why I just don’t feel a shred of pity for the freeloaders I wrote/called. Once again, they provoked me and I reacted. I felt it was the only thing I could do rather than turn the other cheek in the end or do something worse. I wasn’t going to kill them or torch their place, but I just didn’t like the idea of just “walking away,” either. To me, that would’ve been degrading, but not as degrading and as humiliating as it is to go to jail and court for them, but you can bet your ass I’m going to just sit back and tolerate the next set of freeloaders we’re inevitably fated to deal with. So yes, I did wrong. But when you look at the whole situation and not just what I did, you may feel that their getting a few phone calls and some mail from me is getting off easy, considering all they did, and considering the fact that some people would simply have upped and shot the mother-fuckers. Is that what they would have preferred? I’ll always wonder about that one. Because they had no life, they could’ve subconsciously had a death wish and that could’ve been another reason why they acted out like they did. Anyway, I’m not saying minorities don’t get picked on for no reason at all, I’m just saying that white people also get picked on by minorities for no reason at all too, and they need to address this. Yet there are never documentaries discussing what minorities do to whites. Things need to be balanced more fairly. You got black pageants and Spanish TV stations, which is fine. But why is it that we get called racists if we want to have our own white this or white that? What they need to do is have places that are both segregated and non-segregated, giving people more choices and hopefully less to fight about. If a white person doesn’t want to live with non-whites, they shouldn’t have to, and if non-whites don’t want to live with whites, they shouldn’t have to either. When society is forced into one general category, it causes problems. If freeloaders wanted to hate whites, I say – fine, go ahead and hate us. It’s your right. But don’t make us live with you if we don’t want to!

Today’s Tom’s mom’s 77th birthday. Is this the year she dies as I predicted years ago? I don’t feel it as strongly, but I didn’t predict her dying till around June or July. Nonetheless, I hope I’m wrong and that she still has a handful of years left.

Tom said that according to Mary, we were the only ones to send her a birthday card. How sad. Especially when you consider all the relatives she’s got, and it’s not like they all hate each other, either.

The monsoon storms are dying out and the temperature’s dropping. Can you believe it’s only 69 degrees out there now and it’s in the middle of the afternoon? That’s because the storms have switched from early evenings to early mornings, and today, it was an early afternoon storm. Not much thunder/lightning, and not much wind. Not the kind that knocks the power out. Lots of rain, though. Water was running down the wash like a river and was almost filled to the rim. Tom better forget about his plans to put concrete dams in, cuz it would’ve overflowed with a dam. I took a couple of pictures of it when it was filled with flowing water. There’s still water in it, but it’s gotten shallower. I can see the bottom. Ralston, which is a wash, was flowing with water, too. Anyone attempting to drive by there would’ve had to drive up on the land across the way from us, which they’ve been doing anyway. I just hope Tom won’t have any trouble getting home. Rain like this really chews up these dirt roads.

Although I’m still quite emotional, still anxious, stressed out, and fearful of jail, I felt a slight spark of hope today. I feel a little perkier than I have in days. Not because I think justice will be done and that they’ll dismiss the case and pay me for any money lost to this thing (they can’t give me the time back I’ve lost), and not because I’m sure I’ll beat a jail sentence, but because the jail vibe I had faded a little. It could be nothing more than a case of wishful thinking that caused it to fade, though. I can’t be sure. Even psychics can fool themselves into “feeling” things that aren’t going to be the case in reality simply because they don’t want it to be the case.

Tom, who was kind enough to offer to get through to the counselor, I guess by hitting 0 on their menu to talk to someone live, which I didn’t think to do at the time, got an appointment made for me. I’ll be seeing Helen S in Tempe on September 12th at 6:00. Hope that’s not too late for him. Helen’s secretary called and told me she just talked to Tom and got me the date. I was hoping to see someone before my pretrial conference on the 7th, but it may not make a difference, according to what Paul said when he called. He called to say we can enter my guilty plea on the 7th at my PTC, then I’ll have to go over to the probation department to fill out forms or do an interview. Meanwhile, the minimum time allowed between the PTC and sentencing is 30 days, but Paul said he may choose to stall it if he starts getting a bad feeling about it. He still feels I can beat a jail sentence and doesn’t mean to worry me, but if there’s something in the probation report that scares him, he can stall sentencing to try to get around it in my favor. If the report, for example, stated that I’ve made no voluntary attempts to get therapy, we can stall it to get the records from the therapist proving otherwise. Of course, there’s also the possibility that he’s full of shit and that he knows things I don’t know. Meaning, he may know right now that there’s a damn good chance I’m going to jail, but may not want to say so, nor do anything to try to stop that from happening.

Tom says he still thinks we can beat this thing. Yeah, we can beat it, but not without losing a lot more time and money, or a loss of my freedom.

The second therapist I left a message with called today saying she doesn’t have Monday hours. I let her know I was already hooked up with someone else.

Today’s the day I call Sharon, and while I did that, I explained to her the status of the case.

Later...

I thought Tom was on his way home. What the fuck’s taking him so long? Let me guess, it must be something gone wrong with the car. Or maybe the roads are still bad, but they weren’t bad enough to stop the renter from cruising up and down Meadow Green on its motorcycle. I’m starting to think that yes, new renters moved into the vacant house and that’s where the music was coming from. From the house furthest from us. At least Mr. Motorcycle looked white.

Later...

Tom got in a little after 6:00, saying the roads were pretty bad. He said a lot of them were closed. I told him what Paul told me, letting him know I didn’t know if he knew more than he was telling me. Tom said he wouldn’t know it if I were going to end up in jail, cuz most of that’s going to depend on how I present myself.

And the fact that I’m a woman, and the individual judge and their feelings towards my case, and God, etc.

Of course, there’s always the possibility of receiving a deferred jail sentence, where they set a date for Dec. 1st for me to go to jail unless I do everything required of me. Then if I do everything I’m supposed to do, they could extend that deferred sentence to April 1st, etc.

The cow mouse, with the black and white markings, is riddled with tumors big time. She has tons of them on her side, distorting her shape. I doubt she’ll live very long at all.

The freeloaders are even controlling when I sing! Yeah, I’d like to crank up the tunes and sing, but I can’t because I have to wait for a phone call that I wouldn’t have to wait for if it weren’t for them.

Always with me, always with them. I may no longer be able to see or hear them, but my life will be made to revolve around them till the day I die.

You can no longer call a therapist’s office and expect someone to answer. It’s like that with doctors, so I should’ve figured as much. Everything’s voicemail these days. I left a message about making an appointment and I hope to get a call back soon enough. I don’t know if the fact that I’m long-distance will be a problem or not, but we’ll see.

Later...

No one will call me back. I wonder why that is. I left messages with two different therapists 4 hours ago and no one’s returned my call. Is it cuz I’m long-distance? I also left Paul a message letting him know that I was trying to line up therapy appointments.

Meanwhile, I’m still plagued with all kinds of emotions that just won’t quit, asking myself why I didn’t kill myself years ago. And since I didn’t, why does God let me live? I mean, what in the world is he having me live for? What is my purpose? Since I have nothing to offer anyone else in this life, I guess the purpose of him having me exist is so I can be miserable most of the time. How did my life get to be such a mess? Just when I think I’m making a change for the better, life gets worse! So many if-onlys going through my head. If only God had given me quiet neighbors for a change, if only the ones I did have had left me the fuck alone, if only I never said a word to these people, if only, if only, if only! Since I’ll never have a kid who depends on me, a job I love and am really into, or anything of value to offer Tom or anyone else, I know this life of mine really is all about pain, suffering and punishment. It’s got to be, cuz I can’t see anything else waiting for me. If there was something else waiting for me, somebody that depended on me, or some niche in the job world, it would’ve been by now. No one needs me and there’s nothing I can do that’d make much of an impact on my life or the lives of others. All I am is a living, breathing object taking up space on this earth.

Later...

Tom’s been making efforts to cheer me up, but I don’t think even he will be able to really cheer me up till this thing is over. And I got a long, long time before it’s over, and when it’s “over” it still won’t be over and I doubt it ever will be. I appreciate his trying, though.

Although it’s hard, I’m still keeping up with the cleaning, working out, singing, and the usual things I do. I read a lot, too.

Depression and anxiety usually put a dent in my appetite, but not over the last few days. I’ve been bouncing between 113-115 pounds, but I know I’ll lose the rest of my weight eventually because I’m still almost sure I’ll end up jailed. Why would I get the vibes I’ve been having about it if I were wrong? Pure paranoia? God, I wish! Vibes like this scare me when I consider my 80% accuracy rate.

I want a potbellied pig. I saw one on TV and they’re so cute! They live like cats, from what Tom tells me, going in litter boxes. I hope they don’t stink, but I don’t think it’d matter what with how much these rats and mice stink.

After doing some more thinking, and believe me, I’ve got plenty of time for that, there are a couple of things that disturb me about Paul. Part of it is my fault. For example, he asked me what psych meds I’ve taken in the past and I stupidly named a few that I could remember. I never should’ve done so cuz what do the meds I took years ago have to do with what’s going on right now in the present? And also, I don’t like his silence during the minute or two I took to express my shame at knowing they’ll never pay for their part in this. It was almost as if he was too silent. As in – was he recording our conversation for the DA with the hopes of achieving jail time? Remember what he said – if the jury doesn’t like what’s in the journals, they won’t like me. well, he’s made it clear enough to me that he doesn’t like what’s in the journals, and therefore he doesn’t like me. They may want to save money on trial and jury expenses, but not when it comes to jail. The state wouldn’t mind spending the money to jail me. It may very well think it’s worth the cost with Paul working against me to convince them of this. No, Paul’s not on my side, but the question is, is he against me? And how much?

Later...

Today’s one of those days I have zero energy. I started to take a nap but quickly pulled myself up out of it as soon as I felt myself drifting off to that blissful dreamland I wish I could stay in for the next few years, knowing it’d foul up my schedule. The problem is that I know that come early evening, I’ll perk right up and have a hard time going to sleep earlier so I can get up at a reasonable time. 8 hours of sleep just doesn’t usually cut it for me. I need 9 or 10. Today I got up at 9:30, and I wish I could go to bed tonight at 11:00 so I could get up at 8:00 and feel rested enough, but that’s just not how it works with me. I’ll be up till midnight – 1:00. The closer I get to the 7th, the more I’m gonna have to back my schedule up. I also might have to do that for a therapist, and it’s all just so damn stressful, and of course, I’ve still got the threat of jail hanging over me, and aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh! I feel so overwhelmed and bummed out right now! I wish I could just drop this shit and move on! I just want to get on with my life! And I don’t care how much of a boring, no-life life I’ve got! I’d rather be bored with not a damn thing happening than be swamped with this shit!

Anyway, the good thing is that Tom senses it when I’m out of it and lacking energy, so he’ll use that to both our advantages. I’m almost positive he’ll make an excuse to cancel this Sunday’s sex if I don’t beat him to it. If it appears he’s not going to make an excuse, then I will, cuz this is a classic day for him to be too soft to go in there, but not know how to say he’s just not in the mood up front and spare us from going through the motions. This is the ideal situation that turns boring, but functional sex, into a complete mess, making it seem like we’re both a couple of naïve virgins who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.

Later...

Tom moved a tree from right by the road (not on our property) and planted it in front of the wash in front of the master bath. At first I was like - Great. You steal from the county so I can get in more trouble? But then he told me I didn’t do anything and we pay taxes to the county. Yeah, but isn’t that supposed to be illegal like removing cactuses, I asked. He said no, it’s not illegal to move other plants other than cactuses from public property.

OK, then. Meanwhile, I’m still not sure if the renter’s music last night came from the usual renters, or if someone new moved in and was simply introducing themselves to the area. We saw someone riding a motorcycle on their property as if they were trying it out to either buy or sell, and there’s a vehicle there right now that I can’t make out. I can’t tell if it’s new or if it’s the one that’s been there.

Later...

Oh, fuck! Just when I thought I’d get to get out of sex altogether, he announces he’s taking a shower. Well, he doesn’t usually take showers at night unless he’s planning on “getting together.” His taking a shower now means he doesn’t want to stink getting close to me, and he’s undoubtedly doing himself so he can have an easier time restraining himself in bed. I find it awfully hard to believe he could even get hard enough to screw in the first place. It’s the very end of his day, not to mention all the stress and shit going on. This time, if he starts to go in there when he’s not hard enough, I’ll stop him and tell him he’s just not hard enough. Can’t a guy tell these things? I would think so, so that’d make my suspicions right; he’s trying to bum me out and frustrate me with a botched fuck attempt.

Later...

It was just a tease, fortunately. He no doubt came into bed naked after his shower to make me think we were gonna do it, when in fact all he wanted to do was read for a while before hitting the sack. We read together in bed a few times a week.

I’d love to take advantage of the night air, which is getting cooler, and open the windows to let some fresh air in, but there are too many damn bugs. There’s a bunch of little black bugs that can fit right through the screen. Guess I’ll just have to wait for winter. Come mid-October or so, it’ll be pleasant enough in the middle of the day for open windows.

I’m still worried about Paul. I hope I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like he’s conspiring against me with the DA, and damn myself for opening my mouth about past drugs I’ve taken! When am I going to learn that any info given out can and most certainly will be used against me?!

Gotta see if I can make an appointment with a therapist tomorrow, and as for Paul, he’ll either call me before the 7th or he won’t. Tom thinks he’ll call before the 7th. For what? What more can we say to each other? I already left a message saying I’ll plea bargain. I don’t have a choice. I’ve been backed into a corner, completely bribed. The ultimatum is going to prison for sure, or maybe, just maybe I can dodge jail, even though 3 years of therapists, probation officers, and waiting on the lazy won’t be much fun, either.

Took a cute picture of Houdini lapping my plate after having a fish garlic butter fish fillet. Those rats will eat anything!

Although this Saturday is like any other Saturday, it’s not. I mean, Tom’s going back and forth between the TV and computer, as usual. He burned and now he’s reading in bed. I’m doing laundry and my usual hobbies. Neither of us is in the mood for sex. Yet it isn’t a typical weekend. It’s a weekend filled with anxiety and fear. It’s really playing on my stomach, giving me gas and diarrhea, and I’m lucky I haven’t puked yet. I feel the emotions in my chest as well as in my stomach. My heart isn’t booming, but it’s racy. The Theo helps with the tightness, but I do get tight towards the end of the day.

Later...

My stomach’s still fucked up, thanks to all that’s going on. I get stuck for a couple of days, then I have the runs 3 times during the day, and back and forth.

Tom was telling me how jail is a form of punishment for those who show no remorse for their crimes, but if I can convince the courts I’m sorry for what I did, I could probably escape jail. I don’t know about that. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, if I’m asked if they did anything wrong, I’m just going to say no. Besides, what good would it do me to discuss their wrongdoings when I can’t prove it and they’ll never pay for it, anyway? God would never let anyone who wronged me in the slightest way pay for it, and hey, I’m not a nark. I just don’t run to the cops/courts with all the problems I have with people, or else I’d live in the damn police station and courthouse. I didn’t go to the cops/courts about the guy who nearly raped me in Agawam when I lived on Oswego St., nor about Fran and his shit, nor roommates I’d had that ripped me off, nor apartment neighbors, nor neighbors at the Phoenix house. Any time I’ve ever tried to fight back, be it legally or not, I’ve only ended up in worse shape and wishing I never even bothered to try.

Tom said that what they’ve done or are made to pay for doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that I did wrong and I have to own up to it and that it was never OK for me to do wrong or think it was OK for me to do wrong just because they did wrong. He says he hopes I can convince the courts, and him too, that I won’t do it again. I’ll try, but I can’t just say I won’t do something and expect people to be convinced. Do you think I’d be convinced if he told me he’d keep his office neat and uncluttered? No, I wouldn’t be. Not without seeing it done for a while. Talk ain’t shit. It’s actions that count.

My shit sex life is on my mind, too. Since I can’t bring lust and passion and orgasms into it, and since I can’t change anything for the better, the only things I can do is either accept my dull, predictable, boring, passionless, non-orgasmic sex life or try to get out of it. I can get two Sundays off if I make an excuse tomorrow, cuz you know how it is – if I make an excuse one weekend, he’ll make an excuse the next weekend. And of course, when I come up on being mid-cycle, God will step in and act as if I can conceive, and magically do it from a cumless dick too, and act as if it’s just not time yet for me to magically conceive against all the odds that are against me, and have something come up to prevent us from getting together in the first place. Usually, that has to do with either the well or the car, if it’s not about his not being hard enough and in the mood to go in there, and willing to say so too, so we don’t have to bother going through the bullshit motions.

Later...

Haven’t heard any Maricopa boom car stereos in close to a week now. I’m surprised. There have been a few times, though, where I thought I heard music but wasn’t sure. It could’ve been anything.

Had the runs for the fourth time. I ain’t gonna be shitting for 3 days if I keep this “shit” up, pardon the pun.

I love Tom and love being with him, but at the same time, I don’t like being with him. He makes me feel – well – bad, I guess. Bad, crazy, ashamed of myself, not that I’m not ashamed of myself for what I’ve put him through. I’m not the only one going through this shit. He is, too. He’s not intentionally doing anything to make me feel the way I feel, and I know he loves/accepts me, but I don’t feel he’s as on my side as he’s said he is. People have always had a hard time siding with me, for some reason. He says he doesn’t think I’m crazy, he just doesn’t like it when I do bad things, and I seem to have a problem with right and wrong. Meaning that just because I know something’s wrong, I still do it anyway with no remorse (just remorse for the consequences). But I feel that he forgets that the blacks and Mexicans were in the wrong way more so than I ever was, and I feel he forgets that he has faults, too.

Do I really feel sorry only for the consequences of getting caught? OK, perhaps I am crazy. An asshole that ought to be shot, but I just don’t see how I can feel sorry for what I wrote/said to the freeloaders. Not after all they did to me. Correct, two wrongs don’t make a right, but even so, how can I feel sorry for these people? How can I feel a shred of sympathy or pity for them? They made my life a living hell for 4 years and they’ll be continuing to do so for the next 4 years and maybe even longer. Maybe for the rest of my life. So to ask me to feel sorry for what I’ve done to them is stretching it. It’s just a wee bit too much to ask of me. I believe in “an eye for an eye” and that sort of thing, right or wrong.

And do I feel sorry for the prank phone calls Tom says I proudly brag about? If I found out I scared some sweet, dear innocent old lady into having a heart attack, then yes. I most certainly would feel sorry/guilty, but do I feel sorry for just having a little fun and simply annoying people? No, I do not, and if this makes me a sicko who has a brain disorder, then so be it, but without causing someone harm that wasn’t trying to harm me, I just don’t see how I can sit and mope about it. I didn’t even “harm” the blacks. Or the Mexicans. And they didn’t harm me in the sense of breaking any bones or bruising me, but they didn’t just annoy me, either. They practically drove me out of my mind with stress, anger and frustration.

So, I guess you could say I think it’s wrong for a woman to kill a man who never did a damn thing to her. And it’s wrong for a woman to kill a man who raped her, yet I see it as right too, and something she certainly shouldn’t feel sorry for. Why should she have handled it the “legal” way? Why? Just so she could be raped all over again in court, possibly get the guy behind bars for a year or so, then know he’ll get out so he can do it again? So, what society says is wrong, isn’t always wrong to me. It’s like with how some people think being gay is wrong. Well, that’s a matter of opinion.

Although I wish Paula would write more and give me some feedback about the things I’ve been telling her in my letters, it’s so good to know she’s out there. She may not write/call as much as I’d like, but like Tom, she’s always accepted me as I am. It’d sure cheer me up to hear from her, though. It’s different talking to Tom about this (and we usually end up arguing) cuz Paula’s been there. She’s been through the courts, the jails, and the whole screwy system, so she can relate to what I’m going through.

Later...

Right after I last wrote, and I mean right after, the renters finally made the musical debut I knew was destined to come, but not quite in the way I expected. I expected Mexican or other music. You know, rap, mariachi, but not country. It’s actually quite pleasant, save for the bass beat you hear in the house with the windows shut, although the fan drowns that out. It’s nice to hear country music for a change. It goes with being in the desert. How I knew it was coming from the renters, although I couldn’t see any lights or hear any voices, was because I could hear the vocals as soon as I opened the retreat window and could tell it was a male singer. I would think other houses are too far for me to be able to hear the vocals, except for from Dan’s place, and there’s nobody there. Dan always has lights on when he blasts off, anyway, and his place is dark. Also, I could never hear the vocals even from his music, but this music is a little louder than his has ever been. I mean, I can’t make out what’s being said, but I can tell the gender of the singer. I actually sat with the window open and listened to a few songs. I’m sure that pleased God, not that I care about pleasing him, but anyway, it was so nice having the warm desert wind on my face (not the dust-whipping kind) and the country music really suited the mood, fit with the desert. Well, even if they decided to start heavy metaling it 24/7, ain’t nobody gonna get any complaints from me. No Siree. It’s their lives, their stereo, and no, I don’t think it’s a car stereo. You know I’m the only weirdo who listens to her music inside the house with the doors and windows shut, whereas others out here believe in sharing their music. Well, I think it’s a stereo right by an open door or window, or maybe the speakers were even taken outside. Is it new renters? The same ones that have been here almost as long as we have? And if so, did they just get this stereo? Or do they only blast it very occasionally?

Still feeling depressed, humiliated, frustrated, anguished, stressed, and even a bit fearful. The hardest thing is knowing these people will never do a day’s time or pay a nickel for their part in this. The people who wronged me way more than I ever wronged them are going to get away with it. Meanwhile, I’m losing track of how much money these people are costing us. And time. They still control and affect my life. It’s just in different ways now. They took my peace and soon they’ll have my freedom as well. And my muscles, too. I’ll lose all the muscle I built up over the last 5 months and I’ll have to start all over again. They take my peace, my money, my freedom, my strength, but who takes from them? Why is it always me who has to pay for her wrongdoings? Can’t anyone else ever pay for theirs? Especially when it’s against me? It’s like God doesn’t want anyone who’s wronged me in particular to pay for it. Just today’s entry alone should explain why I have no faith in God. The amount of stress I’ve been through up till now and the amount of money and freedom I’ve lost up till now are more than enough of a punishment for my part in this, so if there was a good, fair God up there, he’d let me drop it and get on with my life, and make them pay up for their part, but that’s just not going to happen. God’s a mean, cruel, unfair, heartless asshole, and I’ll say it any church, any house, any business, anywhere!

Then I jump back to blaming myself for it all – If only I had just been more tolerant and not complained to them or anyone! If only I hadn’t sent the letters or made the calls! What did I think it would change or accomplish, aside from maybe easing a bit of my anger? They never read more than two words of my letters and they’ll never know that what they did to me was wrong. They don’t think they were in the wrong in any way by blasting us out, trashing our yard, making the calls preaching racial harmony to us, and slipping the sexual notes in our mailbox slot. It’s a felony to put notes in mailboxes like the blacks did, but will they pay for it? Never. Only my felonies are punishable when it comes to me and these sick shits, and I know I’m going to end up in jail for a year or so. I don’t care what anybody says, I’m still a woman and women are still treated differently than men. People are harder on women, and what’s acceptable for a man is not acceptable for a woman. More is expected of a woman. It’s a primitive thing that goes way back to the beginning of time and society. If a man sleeps with a lot of women, he’s a “womanizer” or a “lady’s man.” If a woman sleeps with a lot of men, she’s a slut. A downright dirty whore. When a man speaks his mind, he’s stating his opinion. When a woman speaks her mind, she’s a bitch, crazy, on the rag, having PMS. Cocks can get acquitted of murder, but no woman can get out of what I’m charged with. Even if I don’t lose more freedom, I’m still forced to lose some of it for the next 3 fucking years checking in with probation officers and going for counseling. Not to mention that the freeloaders and courts will be tapping into our wallets for the next few years, too. So, either way, I lose, and regardless of what I did that was wrong or right, I still feel humiliated, victimized and controlled by these people who instigated shit with me in the first place. There never would’ve been any problems if they had just kept their noise out of my house. Although I’m the one who picked up the phone and who sent the letters, at the same time, I feel that they made me do it. What else could I do but just sit and take it? (although you can bet your ass I will just sit and take it when the bass-thumping freeloaders get out here) Shoot them? Torch their place? Bomb the city offices? What else could I do? How else could I react to the abuse I was receiving? I felt I had to say or do something, even though I knew it would never change what they did to me, nor would it change how they treated other neighbors they were to have in the future. I’m sorry, but when you antagonize and provoke people, you should be prepared to deal with the possible consequences it could bring, and that’s exactly how I feel – like I was provoked into reacting. It may be wrong of the rapist or mugger to rape or mug someone that’s out walking the streets alone at night in a dangerous area, but if you’re gonna be fool enough to dangle yourself in front of the lion’s mouth by walking alone at night, it just may get you. That’s what I feel they did to me; they pushed, challenged and provoked me.

Later...

Just thought I’d sit and bitch about life some more. Doing all the venting I can now before I lose the chance for a year or so. I might lose the chance as soon as tonight. It looks like tonight we’ll get a real storm. Last night all we had was a little wind and some lightning and thunder. No rain that I know of.

Another thing these blacks and Mexicans are dictating to me is when I sleep. Yes, they’re still controlling my sleep, and again, just differently. Instead of waking me up or going to bed fearing I’ll be woken up, they’ve got me set on a schedule for the next 1-3 years, like it or not. If I get into jail I couldn’t sleep whenever I wanted to, and if I get probation/counseling I couldn’t do a rollover if I wanted to. I’d have to stay on schedule cuz I’d have to see the probation officer/counselor at least once a week. Tom says it may diminish over time, but even once a month is enough.

Tom called our insurance provider today, cuz we figured we might as well try to beat the courts to it, so to speak, on seeking a counselor. Tom says it may reflect well on me, but I still don’t think it matters what I say or do, cuz I still think I’m gonna end up in jail. If I end up in jail, it’ll probably be for a year and when I’m done, there probably won’t be any probation or counseling required. But just in case I get lucky enough to skip out on the jail part of it, I’ll still have to see someone. So, Tom called and found out our insurance covers it, but there’s a $25 co-pay. A $25 co-pay! I was like, you mean we gotta pay $25 a week for the next 3 years on account of these people (despite my anger management problem/sending letters/making calls)! He tried to console me, saying $25 is nothing, I don’t know money, he pays more than that on gas, he thought it’d be $150 a week, etc., but that isn’t much consolation to me. Again, when and what do they pay for their part in all this? Why do I have to take responsibility for both mine and their actions?

Anyway, I called and got a few referrals. The first one was a male in Chandler, so that was out of the question. Then there was a Stacey in Gilbert, but all the Staceys I’ve ever known have been bad news, so that leaves Marjorie or Helen in Tempe. I picked Helen, cuz hers was the easiest name and number to remember, but she was closed for the day. I assumed Marge would be too, so I’ll call Helen again on Monday.

I still can’t imagine any counselor being able to help me with my anger. Even if they’re perfectly competent therapists, I’ve had therapy before and look where it got me. Tom suggests I may not have been ready to be helped back then, just like I wasn’t ready to quit smoking until I did, but I don’t know. Being the skeptic I am, I gotta say I just don’t see how they can be of any use to me. If they can – great – more power to them. I wish it could be Cassandra! The one I saw in Deerfield. She was so nice. Best therapist I ever saw, aside from Trisha when I was in my early 20s.

As for Paul, I left him a message letting him know I’ll plea bargain. Hopefully, I won’t have to talk with him again till I see him in a couple of weeks.

Is it my vibes or paranoia telling me I’ll probably have to go to jail? Both. And my logic, too. I think Tom feels it too, more so than he’ll let on, and as for Paul, I don’t trust a damn thing any lawyer or cop has to say to me. Of course he’s going to tell me he doubts I’ll have to go to jail. Unless it was an open and shut case of murder, he’s going to tell me the best-case scenario and not risk mentioning jail too much and scaring a client into running. I wish I could run, but where could I run to? I could run, but I could never hide, and running would only bring God’s wrath down on me harder than it already is.

One of the things that worries me, although there’s nothing I can do about it, is the contents of the tape I stupidly left when I called the black bitch. Most of the things Paul read to me I remember saying, but then there are things I don’t remember saying, and things I know I said that weren’t mentioned. Things like what the freeloaders did wrong to me, and I wonder if Mr. Lying Bias conveniently left that out or altered the tape in any way. Authority figures can do that. They have the means, the technology and the ability to do it without getting caught. Or at least not getting in trouble for getting caught. When Paul read me the contents of the tape, the part about my mentioning the bitch’s tizzy fit on my doorstep was made to sound as if it happened on her doorstep. Another thing that struck me as odd was them saying I asked, “Did you get the letters?” on her machine.

Now why would I ask a machine, who couldn’t answer me, if my letters were received? I also wouldn’t word it quite that way. I’d ask, “Did you get my mail?” and that’s exactly what I asked her directly before she realized who I was and ditched me.

Why don’t I remember this and why would I ask this to a machine? Tom says everything he heard I said on the tape sounds exactly like stuff I’d say, knowing how I word things, and mentioned my mentioning the bullshit story about getting a ride from Bill on her machine. But why would I mention that? That wasn’t why I called. Tom says he thinks that subconsciously I wanted to get caught and I wanted her to know I was the one who sent the mail. Not true. I certainly didn’t want to get caught, although I should’ve known better, cuz I agree with Tom when he said that it’s bad to do something wrong and even worse to do something stupid, but no, I didn’t want to get caught. As far as her knowing it was me, I knew she’d know it was me as soon as she read the first sentence. I wasn’t calling to see if she knew who it was that sent the mail. I was calling to see if she got it forwarded to her without any problems. Boy, did she ever! Tom thinks that I get so angry, that I don’t realize the consequences of what I’m doing, nor do I remember what I say when I get so angry, and this is why he thinks therapy can help me, will willingly go to some appointments with me, and has no problem with me saying anything I want. That includes discussing our sex life (what sex life?). He also said he believes I’m telling the truth (yes, I am) about not remembering everything I said, and that people do forget things. I guess that means even me, who normally has a better memory than most people.

I’m all the gladder we never had a kid and that I can’t ever have one. Imagine going through this with a kid to raise. Ugh! And what a shitty mother I’d make with the way I am. I may not be as bad as freeloading assholes like the blacks and Mexicans, but I’m bad enough and I won’t be bitching about his never cumming again (with me) nor am I planning on running to a doctor about my sterility.

I keep forgetting to clear something up. I misunderstood Tom about the subpoena. I thought he said it was sent to our PO Box, but it was sent to this physical address, and since he only went to pick up that mail once a week, that’s why the certified letter, the subpoena, went back and we never got it. So, he forwarded everything to the PO Box. That way I can get my subpoena for the letters/calls to the people back east.

I can’t believe this shit! What a mess my stupidity and these assholes have gotten me into!!! We moved to make our lives better, but instead it’s worse. Mine is, anyway. Quieter, but worse.

I think another reason God’s gonna make sure the courts get me good this time around and basically throw the book at me, is cuz of all I got away with the last time. Compensation is due me, so to speak. I looked it up, and in late 1991, I was ordered to see a probation officer monthly, pay a $10 monthly fee, and see a therapist for a year. Well, I didn’t. Once I moved to Connecticut, I didn’t see a therapist, pay fees, or check in with a probation officer. I simply mailed Sheila those forms with general info. for a few months back in 1993 after moving out here.

Another thing I forgot to mention is that Anne said the whole staff joined Weight Watchers. I told her I lost weight, which she said she could see and asked her if that made a difference with how much Novocain they give you. She said no. With general anesthesia, yes, but not with local anesthesia.

Things are looking shittier and shittier by the minute and my chances of doing jail time just went up, too. Tom and Paul tell me jail doesn’t look too probable, but that’s what they told me about other things, but once again, I beat the odds. When the odds are in a negative way, I can beat them and I usually do. The more unlikely they are, I’ll beat ‘em. The DA consolidated the cases so that if I went to trial and lost, I’d automatically have to go to prison for 3 years which would end up being about 1½ years. I’ve been backed into a corner and forced to plead guilty if I want to stand a chance of beating jail. As soon as Paul, who again I’ll say works for the state, went to the DA and said I wouldn’t plead guilty, the DA was then like, well if that’s the way she’s gonna be about it, I’ll give her no choice if she wants to escape prison. It’s a power thing, and they live to give ultimatums so they can open and shut cases and save the courts a lot of time and money by avoiding trials, but jail time is going to cost even more money.

They have way more evidence than I realized. Yes, they can prove I mailed those things. See, writing something down that’s either directly or indirectly threatening is a misdemeanor. Mail it and it’s a felony. Paul told me they’ve got me on tape saying, “Did you get the letters” (meaning the journals)? which I completely forgot about and I doubt he’s bluffing me. How utterly stupid of me to even think I could do what I did and not get caught and have to go to court. How utterly stupid of me for thinking for a millisecond that that black pig wasn’t lying to me, just like other pigs have lied to me and just like pigs are known for. They’re all nothing but lying little bullies high on power-play. How could I have been so fucking stupid!!! Did I really think God himself would suddenly let me get away with this? Please!

So now I have to plead guilty, watch them get off scot-free from any of their wrongdoings and their part in this and hope to hell I don’t have to go to jail for 6 months to a year. Even if I didn’t have to go to jail, I’m still 100% sure to be swamped with 3 years of probation, counseling and community service. I’m just so sick of other people telling me what I have to do and I’m so sick of being controlled! I know I’m going to be bribed into taking drugs as a way to cope with my anger. I’m not going to have any more rights or any more say in what goes into my body and how I deal with my problems than I did as a kid. I know they’ll make it a condition of the probation that I take whatever drugs they want to give me to numb my emotions so I can’t feel and express them in the way that a person should be allowed to. Then after I’ve dealt with all the side effects and am finally allowed to have a say when it comes to my body and am allowed off the drugs, I can freak out at having to learn to cope with feeling things I wasn’t able to feel on the drugs. Then again, no staff members are reigning over this house to check my mouth to make sure I’ve swallowed the drugs, but wouldn’t they do regular blood tests to make sure I’m taking the shit? I would think so. So, once again, Jodi will have no choice when it comes to her life and body, but others can do what they want.

Speaking of drugs, I had a sneezing fit start a couple of nights ago, took the Allegra, and it did stop the attack, but was it a coincidence? It’s too soon to tell. If it stops a couple more attacks, then yes, I can say the stuff does help.

Anyway, Paul called today and he called Tom at work and talked to him, too. He said that if I pled guilty and had successful probation, it’d be reduced to a misdemeanor no more serious than a traffic ticket. Well, probation and counseling are certainly better than jail or prison, but I’d really like to just drop it for once and for all and just move on and just get on with life. But that’s the big question. Now that I’ve owned up to my part in this, admitted what I did wrong, and know I won’t contact these people again in any way, when can I? When can I get on with my life and finally, after 4 years, put these people in the past for good where they belong? Huh? When? The end of this, if it ever ends, will be years to come. Meanwhile, I plan on beating the odds yet again and end up having to go to jail. Therefore, I’m going to try to make as many preparations as I can. I’m going to cut my hair off, for one, so that’s one less thing I have to deal with in jail. It may not be really long anymore, but it’s still way too thick. I’m also going to write a lot more, cuz I won’t be able to in jail. I know I’ll get one of those unusual and or real hard-ass judges who’ll throw the book at me. Any jail time I do, though, will be deducted from my probation and any other crap they throw at me.

I’m going back and forth between thinking: If they had just shut up and left us alone, I wouldn’t be in this situation today, and I wouldn’t have ended up mailing the mail and making the calls, as wrong as I admit and know it was, and thinking: If I had only been more tolerable to their noise, I wouldn’t be in this mess…but I am. Always with them, always with me. They have been a part of my life, they are a part of my life, and they always will be a part of my life because I will always have the memories. Since blaming them only pisses me off, which doesn’t help me at all, I guess it’s easier to resort to self-blame and say that I was just as wrong for the legal things I did as well as the illegal things; asking them to turn their music down, sending the city letters. It was wrong in God’s eyes, and if God thinks it’s wrong, it doesn’t matter if it’s illegal or not – it’s wrong. Period. He wanted me to listen to them, I tried to fight it, reacted about it, and even if the courts didn’t punish me, God will, not that I don’t feel I’ve been punished enough over this with just the stress alone that it’s caused. I went against him. I rebelled against the hand he dealt me. Yes, perhaps I wasn’t the victim after all, but the victimizer.

If there is a group of people I truly am done with and that is in the past, it’s Tammy, her parents, her brother, her kids and her ex. But am I? Or am I going to get hit with a subpoena in 6 months to a year? Or even in 5 or 10 years? Maybe the damn thing will come tomorrow!

Life isn’t about equal rights and fairness. Life isn’t about being able to get away with wronging those who got away with wronging you. Life is about taking other people’s shit and accepting life’s unfairness.

Yesterday I was too depressed to write, today I’m too tired and too depressed, but I better try to write a little anyway, so I don’t get too behind. The only good to this stress is that it’s doing a fine job of keeping my weight down. I’m currently 113 pounds. If I pose certain ways in the mirror, I don’t think I look too bad, but at the same time, it’s easy to see (at least for me it is) that I could still afford to lose a bit more weight. Especially in the areas between my belly button and mid-thighs.

This week hasn’t been too pleasant so far.

The trip to the dentist was a bit rough. It’s a good thing I mentioned the Theo, which I almost didn’t mention, cuz it clashes with Novocain. I guess he gave me something different, or less of the usual. He numbed me enough, although I could feel a little of what he was doing, but for some reason, it made me so dizzy. I could barely walk out of there, but fortunately, my head cleared up 5-10 minutes after leaving the office. I also had to have more shots of Novocain than usual because the cavities were spread out, and that was no fun. That shit stings even with the numbing gel they first rub on. I had 3 fillings done and I’ve got 4 more to go. Although they’ll be doing 4 of them next time, it should be easier cuz they’re close together so that’s fewer shots of Novocain I should need. I have 3 little ones in the front bottom incisors and a big one they recommend a crown for in the bottom back molar. No way, though, cuz it’s $650. I told them to just fill it. I guess they recommended a crown cuz the cavity is so big and I guess a crown is more stable.

Melanie dyed her hair a light sandy brown and it just does not go with her. Just like with Gloria, she should leave her hair naturally dark to go with her dark eyes and darker complexion. It’s like when a black dyes their hair blond – so unnatural. Even so, she’s still good-looking enough to get an immediate yes out of me if we were suddenly single and she hit on me. Not that anyone looking like she does could be gay. The lookers are almost always straight.

After leaving the dentist, we went to the bank where I signed a paper that needed to be notarized. We’re taking out a loan for just over 2 G’s to pay off bills and get caught up. We’re borrowing against his pension plan and we’ll have to pay it back in payments. It’s a one-time thing, too.

Our last stop was at Circle K. I got coffee, a candy bar, a muffin, and we each got a bingo ticket. His won $2.

We ran over a p-dog twice that darted out in front of us on the dirt roads, but when I looked back to see if I could see it, I couldn’t due to the plume of dust. If we hit it, and I know we hit one of them for sure, it wouldn’t be there long before one of those vultures swooped down and grabbed it.

Tom told me he heard they were closing the bombing range in southern Arizona, which may explain why I’ve only heard them boom 2 or 3 days since March. If we don’t get boomed again, or if we rarely get boomed, that’s all the more compensation I can expect from God in stereos, although I haven’t heard any in the last few days.

We had a big storm last night. The power was off for 4 hours. It’s a good thing these storms come at night.

Anyway, one of the two things that have me depressed has been an issue for me since 1996 and the other has been an issue pretty much all my life. I’m sure you can guess that the 4-year thing is a freeloader thing. The other – well – it’s just so damn depressing to know my life is over and that it’s been over. OK, so we moved, so I had an ear canal made, so I quit smoking and wrote a few stupid books along the way, but just what have I done since coming to Arizona? It’s so damn depressing to have the rest of your life mapped out for you and to know just about everything that’s going to happen to you till the day you die. It’s like having a script in hand that you’re fated to act out. Nothing can change it short of dropping dead and when you’re psychic, you know that’s all the more reason to count on being right about something you feel in your gut, or even your common sense. I’m the wrong person having the wrong vibes and when the wrong person has the wrong vibes, it really sucks. It’s so damn depressing to know that I’ll be able to do nothing but clean the damn house for the rest of my life. Yes, my life was once much much worse, and yes, my life could still be much much worse, but do you have any idea how damn depressing it is to know you could never have a job, a career or a family if you decided you wanted that? I have no options in life, no freedom of choice, and even if I could have a career and a family – how long would it be before I fucked it up and what kind of mother would I make? Ha! I’m what God and society say I should be, and just what does God keep me on this earth for? I don’t understand my part. Everyone says we all have a purpose in life, that we’re here for a reason, but I have yet to figure out what my role in this world is all about and why it’s so important. Tom doesn’t need me. He can fend for himself. So what am I doing here when no one depends on me and when I can’t offer anyone anything of significant value? Is the rest of my life really gonna be all about cleaning and caring for rodents? I’m sure it is and that’s all well and good. It really is. But, I would’ve liked a little more than that. It’s just that, as I know all too damn good and well, I’m not allowed to do what I choose to do. My destiny from here on out is to clean the house, bitch about life in my journals, clash with society, watch TV, read, listen to music, sing, care for rodents, and put up with my shitty sex life that bores me to tears. What a life! Again, I know it could be worse, but this is bad enough. Especially when I know there’s no more room left in my life for surprises or changes. This is it. I’ve lived my life even though I’ve probably got at least 30 years left to live and do the same old, same old.

Tom says he supports me with everything. Bull fucking shit. That is just not true. He’s supportive of most things, but again, did he ever go to a doctor when I asked him to? Just how did he support me when I cried year after year, begging him to go to a doctor with me when all he’d do is make one lame excuse after another while swearing he really did want a kid? Yes, some of the excuses were legit, and yes, I’m glad we never had a kid, but he still watched me hurt day after day while he did nothing about it but bullshit me with false promises. And to say he’d support me even if we were financially stable for a good length of time, without this court shit going on, is a joke. He’s a very bad liar if he says he wants a kid and would support me with doctors, invitro, whatever. He’d be as manipulative as ever and con his way out of it, even though I know it’s not meant to be per orders of God. He’d critique everything I said to the doctors and make me feel as if things were all my fault and that I was going about it all wrong. He just makes me feel like an incompetent fool at times! He’s always defending, critiquing and challenging me, and I’ve tried to tell him how I feel, he says he’ll try harder, but he doesn’t. He says in one breath that he agrees the ex-neighbors were in the wrong, but then he says I bring a lot of trouble on myself. Perhaps I didn’t handle it too well, because if I had been smart enough to know better, I’d never have said a word to these people and wasted my time, and perhaps I shouldn’t have sent the mail and made the calls, but I’m not the one in the wrong here.

But maybe I am. Just maybe I am. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut and told myself: hey, it’s only music. Just let them live their lives the way they see fit, mind your own business, and live your life the way you see fit. But they made their lives my business and they wouldn’t let me live my life as I saw fit, I tell myself next. I keep going back and forth between thinking no, they victimized me, and, if I had just kept my mouth shut and kept to myself I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Maybe it really isn’t best to “fight back,” so to speak. Maybe it really is better if we just let ourselves be wronged and move on and away from it as soon as we can and just forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything to them, nicely or not. I shouldn’t have sent the city letters, I shouldn’t have mailed the mail, I shouldn’t have made the calls, etc. I should’ve just put up with the music, the barking, the screaming, the ball games. After all, what do you expect from a household that’s just a few feet away? Peace and quiet? Right! I swore to Tom, to Sharon, to myself that I would never plea bargain. To me, that’d be like a rape victim pleading guilty, but maybe I should plea bargain. Maybe I’m just as wrong, no much much more wrong, than the blacks and Mexicans ever were. Maybe I deserved anything they gave me and maybe I’ll deserve anything I get in court. I say this because It’s so obvious, of all the neighbors I could’ve had, that God did want the noisiest of the bunch next to me. It’s also obvious that he did want me to pay, and pay dearly, all along on account of these sick fucks. He wanted me caught on the default warrant I didn’t even know existed really, really bad to have allowed the cops to come out here on account of Tammy, or on account of anything, cuz think about it – how often do I deal with cops and talk to them? When I got arrested, that was like the second time in a decade I chatted with them. So see? Something wanted me to get caught. Something wants me to go through the mud on account of these people. Something does not want them to be a part of my past where they belong. The odds of me getting picked up on the warrant before the statute of limitations was up were one in a million and I beat those odds. I always do when it’s in the wrong kind of way. That’s why it worries me when Paul said something about how if they separate the cases (blacks and Mexicans) and convicted me, I’d have to go to jail for a few years, even though that’s very rare, cuz rare is me. Tom says it’s ridiculous to fear going to jail or prison, but again, ridiculous has a way of sticking to me like a tick. Ridiculous loves me. It follows me wherever I go. What are the odds of being born without one ear? What are the odds of landing a guy who has no problem getting hard, but doesn’t cum? Shall I go on with all the odds I’ve beaten? For now, I’ll skip it.

Later...

Tom came home saying he screwed up; he hit a bump too hard and poked a hole in the oil pan, so for now he’s putting epoxy on it till he can get a new pan from a junkyard.

I still feel pretty lousy – racy heart, gassy stomach, and tiredness from nerves. I didn’t go to bed till after 4 AM and I thought I’d sleep till after noon, but nope. Got up at 9:30.

My anxiety, frustration, anger, stress and conflicting emotions that bounce back and forth between self-blame and blaming the sick fucks we lived with, are at a high right now. I don’t feel much different than I did when we lived with them. Instead of stressing over whether or not they’re gonna wake me up or bounce balls just a few feet away from where I’m trying to live my life in peace, I’m stressing out over my court case with them, even though it’s not technically “with them” anymore. Meaning, it’s the state that’s against me because of them. Not them that’s against me. People can no longer file charges against others. All they can do is report a crime. After that’s done, the law takes it or leaves it at that point. In the past, a wife-beater wouldn’t get thrown in jail without the wife’s consent, but now, it’s automatic jail no matter what the wife says. Or girlfriend, for that matter. Thank God people can’t charge other people what with all the Fran’s in this world. There’s nothing like having a crime done to you, and then having the person who did it turn around and take you to court for the exact same thing they did, although that’s similar to what’s happening to me now, whether it’s the state or not. And that’s precisely what the Vista butch and the freeloaders did – harassed me, then one tried to get a conjunction against me, and the other tried to have me served so she could try to get one against me.

So let me now cover my discussion with Paul, which fueled my emotions even more, although he pretty much didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. He’s doing just what Sharon said he’d do, too; trying to get me to plea bargain to get me out of his hair and lessen his caseload. Remember, he may be called a public defender, but he is not on my side. He works for the state, which is against me. Of all the times I’ve bitched about people’s incompetence and fuck-ups, well, I wish this one would be incompetent and fuck up because it’d benefit me, but I don’t know. Even if he did, would it really benefit me? I’m afraid he wouldn’t fuck up quite enough, or someone would make excuses for him, cuz they all protect their own. Of course OJ got off; he had an all-black jury!

Paul says he doesn’t think he can win my case, the evidence against me is too damaging, etc., although he swears he’ll try to win the case. He said even if I were convicted, he highly doubts I’d do jail or prison time. Just probation, counseling, or something like that. Yeah? And who counsels them? Who counsels these freeloaders for their part in this? It’s just so unfair. So fucking unfair!

Then Tom says not to worry because they can’t prove I mailed the mail and reminded me that people really do get away with murder. Yeah, I know they do, but this isn’t murder, and I’m no cock. The more you can get away with depends on whether or not you’ve got a dick between your legs, money, and whether or not you’re a minority. I wasn’t kidding when I said it was a bad time to be a majority in this world, and if you think they’re not going to turn this into a racial issue, even though I’m not charged with that and being a racist isn’t a crime – think again. That’s what this is all going to come down to, and as Paul said, if the jury doesn’t like what’s in the journals, they’re not going to like me. This is understandable too, without knowing me and without having been in my shoes and having gone through the shit I went through with these fuckaroos. It’s like this: if a fat person cuts me off on the road, I’ll probably call them a fat bitch or a fat cock, which sounds really horrible, but which does not mean I hate fat people. Just that fat person, but not because they’re fat but because they cut me off. I only use certain terms as a way of venting.

Went to Mary’s yesterday and visited with her, Dave and Mom for a while. Mary and Dave were both on vacation. The house reeked and I had a hard time breathing, but it was still nice to get out and see them. Mary was out getting pizza when we arrived. I only had a few bites of Tom’s pizza, cuz I knew I was gonna be having KFC.

Mom seemed less shaky but huge! She was so bloated with water cuz of diabetes.

I was brave enough to be in the house with Pepper this time and even patted him, too. As Tom said, he really seems to like me a lot. This time I remembered to take the camera and shot a few dozen pictures of everybody, plus the dog and birds. I’ll put a couple of pictures on each envelope back when I send my letters.

I kind of wish we’d brought our suits so we could go swimming, but it’s not like we have 5 or more years to wait for our own pool.

Mary said that the house next door was bought a couple of months ago and that they’re quiet and they like that. I was thinking to myself – you are so lucky! If it had been us living here, the new neighbors would be anything but quiet.

Tom and Mary did some stuff with the computer and phones, and Mary was kind enough to give Tom a modem. He got his working, but he still wants to put one on my computer, even though I don’t go online anymore.

The best part of the visit, I must selfishly admit, was that we may be getting the big screen TV Dave won in a raffle at work!! I don’t know when we’ll get it or if we’ll get it for sure, but it sure would be nice to have. We’ll have to rearrange a bit to fit it in nicely, but it’ll be worth it. If we get it, I’ll then describe where we put it and how I rearranged, etc. Dave’s son Mike is now 18 and so they’re rearranging their house. He’s going to college now and isn’t staying there every weekend anymore.

I was shocked to find out a couple of things about Dave. First, he read my story. I thought only Mom and Mary read it. Second, he’s 47. I could’ve sworn he was in his late 30s.

After KFC, we got bingo tickets at Circle K and a few other things. Jennifer cut her hair and it looks absolutely pitiful! It’s thick, wavy and one length to her neck that sticks out in a funny way. Anyway, one card won a couple of bucks.

Today we’re making a wooden burrow for the rats, then come late afternoon/early evening, I’ll be in for another round of incredibly boring, predictable cumless sex.

Later...

We do one of two things in bed – we either have a cumless screw, or a no screw. Today was a no screw. I just couldn’t get him hard enough and into it, and as usual, he was too OK with it. Not a shred of frustration on his part.

I should’ve known better, too. It was too early in the day (2:00) and he was acting too eager and playful about getting together like he had some trick up his sleeve. The trick was an old one - to make sure he didn’t go in there so he could get off on any negative feelings I felt by it, but I’m beyond any negative feelings anymore. If that’s the only way to please him and to keep him happy, comfortable and content, then so be it. Let him play his games. He’s normal in one respect; that a man always thinks of himself only when it comes to sex. To hell with pleasing the woman. It’s not like he wouldn’t go down on me if I asked him to, but I just don’t desire to get off by him. I don’t want to get off by anyone who doesn’t want to get off by me. His silly little fears, coupled with his desire to play games and turn me off, really do turn me off. He even made a comment after he “tried” to get in there (he probably already got off in the shower) saying, “You look so bored,” (gee, I wonder why?) and he seemed to take such delight in the idea of that. He’s turned on by my being turned off, I swear! If it were me, I would want to do all I could to please my wife, if I truly loved her, and I wouldn’t want to risk her straying or leaving altogether, no matter how sure I was she’d stick around no matter what. But he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do and no one can change him. He is how he wants to be. Yes, sex is definitely better between two women. With women, they’re coming from common ground, they know what each other likes/wants, and they know exactly what to do and how to do it. One also can’t be afraid of impregnating the other. It’s like two people communicating in English, versus an English-speaking person trying to communicate with a French-speaking person. Men and women simply clash in bed. Certainly not to the degree that we do, but all I can do is live with it. I love Tom too much to cheat on him or dump him just because he sucks in bed. We all have our fears and our areas in life where we’re selfish and think of ourselves only. It could be worse. He could have the appetite most males do, wanting sex nearly every day. That’d drive me crazy! Even with a gorgeous woman. I have a whole week before I have to endure his very old shit again, but next time he’ll probably let himself inside.

The well quit working momentarily yesterday for no apparent reason, the second bath’s toilet leaked, and now its outlet is dead. Now, I know we’re cursed with electrical and plumbing stuff regardless, but why do I fear this is a warning sign from God? One saying, “I’m not gonna just let you have a nice big TV. Take that TV and watch out!”

I fear this shit we’ve been through with the problems/breakage is a taste of what’s to come should we get that TV.

Upon coming home yesterday, we saw a buzzard circling around the front. Those are big, too. They make pigeons seem small. When they circle an area it means something’s died or they’re waiting for it to die so they can eat it. We searched the area and after a while of looking, we smelled a foul smell and saw grayish fur – probably a rabbit that was killed by a coyote.

Today there were lots of quails roaming around looking for food. I finally relented and threw out some seeds, but by then they were gone. They’re pigeon size.

Tom made the rat burrow and he did it fast, too. It’s a simple, yet clever design; two boards nailed together in a V-shape so they can get in and out either end. It’s about 5” tall and 15” long.

The dark red car blasted up Meadow Green this morning at 10:00. Actually, I heard it long before it came into view, but it turned its music off right before it hit Meadow Green. Anyway, that’s every day this week I’ve had to hear someone else’s music, except for one day. So, my pre-moving predictions are right on so far – getting noisier with time. The only difference is that the noise can’t get a few feet up to the house. As powerful as these stereos continue to get, though, it won’t matter. 100,000 feet will seem like 3 feet.

Still no call from Paul. He better call by the 7th.