Tom got me a list of holidays throughout 2004, so I made a holiday file so I can have them available to add to calendars when I make them up.

I forgot to add a wheel mouse to my list of non-doll stuff. I may have that mural today! Tom told me yesterday we could look for one at the hardware store we’re going to this morning, but I have a feeling they won’t carry them. It’d be just my shit luck, too. Especially when he’ll have plenty of time to put it up since he’s gonna be taking time off during the time mom stays with us. We’re gonna head out of here around 9:00 and go to the hardware store first. Then we’ll go to Mary’s, help load the TV into the truck, and then head back here. I got the space in my office clear for the entertainment center. They’re also giving Tom a metal file cabinet which he’ll keep outside for his tools.

Boy, this rat is full of surprises! Ratsy, I mean. Yesterday he was panting and seemed to be so weak like Scuttles did before he died. He looks like he lost some weight, too. However, when I got up at 4:30, he was upstairs! How’d this weak old thing manage to climb up to that tube?!

The phone company never did need to come out to the house to fix the phone. It’s working again. At least, for now it is.

Good news about Mary: it looks like the cancer is contained to her throat, so all they’re going to need to do (hopefully!) is just radiation therapy. Also, Dave’s mom will be in around October 16th, so that’s when Ma will stay here unless she changes her mind. She’ll be here a week or two, I guess.

It’s just about October 1st, my weight deadline. Since it’s been over 2 months since there have been any significant changes in my weight, and since I’m still yo-yo-ing between 112-116, I’m going to have to write off losing any more weight as the impossible dream it is, like it or not, and just hang onto what I’ve got.

Speaking of dreams, why do Doe and Art have to casually butt into my dreams so often? Ugh! I get so sick of them popping into my dreams whenever the fuck they feel like it. They intrude upon my dreams as if nothing ever happened. We all live together in most of the dreams. Last night I was washing our laundry like I would as a teenager. We had those crappy stackables like we had in Phoenix. They nearly overflowed, and the dryer only ran if I held the button down. When they came in from being out somewhere, I mentioned my frustrations about it to Art. Doe seemed to be in her own little world. I said I was sick of having to depend on something that didn’t work half the time and would do laundry by hand. Art said he could fix it and I was like, fine, but put up a clothesline so I can hang dry clothes when the dryer conks out.

Once the sun comes up I turn the AC off and turn the fan on continuous run, then I opened most of the windows to let the fresh air in. Once the sun really starts rising, I shut the east side windows. I have the retreat, bedroom and kitchen windows open now, and it is beautiful! It’s dead quiet too, the way a remote country area should be. It’s been quiet and it’s hard to believe that for a while there, I was hearing music nearly every day. I couldn’t get any peace in Phoenix with the windows shut, so it’s nice to be able to open them and not have those fucking freeloaders screaming, bouncing balls, and blaring music right outside the windows. I can’t fully feel the wonders of not having those sick fucks just a few feet away, though, cuz they are still a part of my life. It sort of dampens the mood, knowing that although I can’t see or hear them this doesn’t mean I’m free of them. I’ll never be free of them. I remember how shocked and disbelieving I was when the blacks moved. Meaning, I just didn’t feel like it was over. Well, obviously it was far from over.

I don’t usually watch talk shows these days, but I was doing things to keep myself awake to push my schedule around faster, and what I saw on Oprah was really scary. It’s sooo damn easy to get the most innocent people convicted of all kinds of things. All you have to do is swear they did whatever. This segment was on capital punishment and innocent people who spent years on death row before they finally were set free. I’m still for capital punishment, though. Better to fry 9 guilty people and 1 innocent person than to let just 1 guilty person go free. What’s scary is how many incompetent lawyers there are out there, how you can get convicted with no physical evidence tying you to the crime, and worst of all, just by someone’s word for it, and it’s usually not the word of a reliable witness, either. I’d be going down for these blacks even if my prints hadn’t been on the mail, and even if I’d had someone else make the call from a pay phone or something. All the bitch has to do is say I did it. What do I do when they fuck with someone that reacts differently than I did? What do I do when someone kills one of them and they point the finger at me? Even if I had an airtight alibi, which would be hard to do when you’re home all the time, the cops would still insist I had something to do with it and so would they. Well, I just hope that when they push the wrong person too far and when that person snaps and harms them, they know who it is and that they finger that person and that person only. I also hope I’ll be somewhere like Helen’s or the dentist’s so I’ll have an alibi when it happens. Assholes like them may live long, healthy lives, but at the same time, they’re living on the edge. Especially the blacks.

Got my weight back down to 115 pounds. Guess I got a bit watery, but I should also cut my calories for a while. Yes, my metabolism’s faster, but I shouldn’t be doing 1500-2000 calories for too many days in a row.

The incompetent fucks at the phone company have really been fucking with our service. It’s hit or miss as to whether or not the phone will be dead when we go to make calls or leave messages. I told Tom he should just live with it, knowing how poorly people take to complaints, but he got fed up and called them. They say it’ll be fixed by tomorrow, but that’s what they’ve said a million times before. I know each time he calls and bitches that our service is going to get worse. Meanwhile, instead of leaving messages, since I know he may not be able to retrieve them, I’ve been typing them. Especially if I’ve got more to say than can fit on the memo board. The things I usually tell him are trivial stuff, like about the rats, etc.

Not only am I still finding tons of those annoying black bugs, but I also found a big, creepy spider earlier. Hope we can bomb soon.

Mom needed around 50 stitches the other day after she scraped her leg with the car door. That’s one sharp car door! She said Mary and Dave were out talking about whatever right before they were getting ready to head out. This is when Ma started to get into the car and cut herself. They rushed her to urgent care. Now all we have to do is hope it’ll heal quickly enough without getting infected. They gave her antibiotics.

When Tom went to see her yesterday, she gave him a bag with lots of material for me. Most of it’s dull, but what do you expect from an old lady? Bright shiny colors? I’m still happy to have it, though.

Another Ashton-Drake catalog came yesterday, and since there are too many dolls I want, I reevaluated the ‘stuff to buy’ list and narrowed it down to just 6 non-doll things I want to get, excluding household stuff like awnings, pressure tanks, etc. Besides the fire Indian, since we don’t know what she looks like yet, I want a Latina, an Indian, and a bride.

I knocked off the retreat table from the list. Unless I really get into sewing, which I can’t picture, we don’t need a table other than what’s already in there for that room. I almost knocked off the water lamp, but I did knock off the bedroom mural. The more I thought about it, the more I think it’ll look funny in there and throw the balance off there. Especially with the way that room’s laid out. An open room like the living room, though, will look great muraled. I knocked off the mattress pad, cuz they probably don’t make any built-in ones as soft as I like anyway. We’ll just stick to pads. Besides sewing stuff and clothes, I only want the living room mural, a CD changer, a tree for the dining corner, new towels, exercise gloves, and a water lamp.

I’d still like the doll kit and maybe some plastic dust covers which they sell. I can get 5 covers for the cheapies for $20. I don’t need their record book. I keep records electronically. After having time to think about the dolls I see in a catalog, some wear off me, some grow on me, and some keep their first impressions. I still want Marisa first (Hispanic), then Star Dancer (Indian), then a bride (white) called With This Ring, as in with this ring I thee wed…

Knocking some of the things off the list will save money. Also, by the time I get these 3 dolls, there’ll be 10 more I want, so wanting 6 non-doll things is better than 10.

Here’s an idea: If I get $35 for my birthday unless it’s needed for bills, groceries, or some kind of necessity, I’ll combine it with whatever pennies are left over from Tom’s electric razor loot, and get the living room mural! That’ll knock it down to just 5 non-doll things, and then I can maybe get 1 of the 3 dolls I want for Christmas! It always goes without saying, though, that the necessities come first.

Later...

Tom said that he warned the phone company that we weren’t about to pay for anything we couldn’t use. Therefore, we’ll just go cellular if we have to. Anyway, they’re supposed to come out to work outside the house today. Tom said I can just ignore them if they knock, cuz they don’t need to come in. No prob. At least I shouldn’t have to worry about them waking me up. I was up over 18 hours yesterday and slept till nearly midnight, so I shouldn’t be needing to go to bed till late afternoon. If we do drop the main phone, I’ll give Paula the cell number.

Star Dancer’s a nice doll, but I think I’ll put her on hold and go after Marisa and the bride first.

Dave’s mom is coming to visit from New York in October, so Tom’s mom may actually stay with us for a week or two, believe it or not.

Forgot to mention that Ratsy was out yesterday morning. I couldn’t believe it! He didn’t run around like he used to, though. It was still quite an unexpected and pleasant surprise for the old, arthritic guy!

We are getting the big screen TV, after all! I didn’t get up till 7:30, and I guess Tom had just gone to bed, cuz he left me a note saying he spoke to Mary. Cool! I think I’ll take the entertainment center in my office, cuz it’s just not suitable for the mice. Especially when I want to have more cages set up.

I both dread and look forward to tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it because I want to find out what’s going on with Mary, but I dread it, knowing it’s not going to be good news.

I’m not only back to 115 pounds, but to 116! What the fuck did I do to gain more than 5 pounds back, and so fast? I was stuck, but now that I’m not, and now that I took a water pill, perhaps I’ll drop back down, but why the fuck can’t I just fucking lose 15 more pounds and keep it off?! I’m sick of this yo-yo rut I’ve been in!

Maybe not that predictable. I actually have a light flow and would count this as being a period.

I also had a vibe saying I’ll need a full hysterectomy when I’m between 36-37. This fits. I mean, it’s something God would do, but why in my mid-30s and not when I was 20? Obviously, he wanted me to feel teased by his not cumming, even though I knew deep down since I was a little girl that I’d never have a kid. How do I feel about having a hysterectomy? Well, again, I don’t like my decisions being made for me, and I don’t like having more and more options and doors slammed shut on me, but decision-making is also hard for me because I’m not used to it. So, it’s one less decision I have to make (having invitro) cuz I’m just so undecided, and I have been for the last few years. Meaning, I’m not dead set against a kid, and I’m not dead set for one, either. I feel that if I never try for invitro, I’ll wish I did, and if I do, I’ll wish I didn’t. So, one less tough choice to make. Also, a hysterectomy would end Tom’s fears, but that doesn’t mean he’d start cumming. He’s not going to do anything that’d admit I was right about him being scared. Periods are a bitch, so that’s a plus there; not having to deal with them. So, knowing I’m not fated to have a kid, knowing I don’t want one bad enough like I used to – I’ll take a hysterectomy if that’s what I’m in for. As long as I don’t have any serious suffering to do along the way – sure, why not? I don’t mind cutting out on periods a decade or so early.

I cut out on Ratsy’s wheel. He no longer uses it to wheel with. He’s just too weak. He only uses it to sit on, and he got his foot caught between the rungs again for the fifth time. So I chained it up high in the cage, out of his reach, for Houdini to sit in, but he seldom wheels. He prefers getting his exercise by running around loose.

I forgot to mention that the renters were hammering at midnight last night. Yeah, that’s an Arizonan for you. I was lying in bed reading when I heard it, but just for 5 seconds. I can’t imagine what the fuck they’d be hammering at that hour, and Dan’s place was too dark to be the one doing it. I figured it was the renters, cuz when I looked out back at midnight the front light was on. An hour later it was off.

I printed out all the calendars for Mary, Dave, mom, and the ones for us, grids and all. This is because the phone’s so fucked up he can’t download the holiday list I wanted. If he manages to, though, I’ll just write them in on the calendar we’ll keep in the kitchen by hand.

Wow, it’s only just after midnight and it’s already down to 64 degrees out there. For the first time this year, I can really feel winter starting to set in. Thank God! It’s still hot in the daytime, and I still don’t miss the bitter cold of New England, but after having 8-9 months of nothing but intense heat, it’s nice for a change. I don’t mind a couple of months of a little shiver after sweating my ass off for so many damn months!

It’s been days now since I’ve seen Ratsy climb up to the tube. How sad it is seeing him get so old and feeble. Still making funny noises, too.

Later...

We decided to get rid of the Internet. Why pay for something we can’t use since all they do is crash us or not let us online? Besides, the extra money wouldn’t hurt. We still don’t know how much more these freeloaders are going to cost us. It’s one thing for me to go down on account of those who harassed me for years, but another to do it while we’re broke!

I didn’t run heat last night, but if it had gotten a few degrees cooler I would have. Remember, temperatures feel cooler than they do in the east out here. 80 degrees is miserably hot in New England, but here, 80 degrees is quite comfy with how dry it is. So, when it got down to 74 degrees in here early in the morning, it felt like it was in the 50s.

Although I slept from around 8:00–5:30, I was still tired when I got up. I guess it’s because I’ve been waking up constantly throughout my sleep. Hopefully, if the freeloaders will ever let me go, I’ll sleep better. But until this shit is over and until I find out how much more I gotta pay for something I should never have had to pay for in the beginning, I’m pretty stressed out. Anyway, I ended up lying down this evening. Tom said I was out cold for nearly two hours, but I thought I had barely dozed off and that it had only been for about 45 minutes. Nerves have a way of really beating one down!

As I figured would be the case by today, that little gush I had last night is gone. I’ve tapered down to just a few spots here and there. At least that much is predictable. So now I’ll have to deal with the expense and hassle of wearing a liner till I get another half-assed flow in a week or two.

And now it’s been exactly one year since we left Freeloaderville! God, how did my life come to be such a mess despite having such a quieter area and nicer house?! Well, anything’s better than living with Doe and Art or Brattleboro or Valleyhead or Oswego Street, the NHA, PHX, etc.

I decided to highlight all my entry dates in yellow. It shows up the best, even on paper. On paper, all the other colors are much darker than they appear on screen, making the text hard to read.

All our calendars are made up, except for the date grids. This is because I’m waiting for Tom to get me that holiday list. He said he couldn’t get online most of the day cuz our wonderfully competent phone company just had to go play with the lines again, and the phone was out all day. Anyway, for our 4 calendars, which will go in each of our offices, plus the kitchen area, plus the guest room, I’ve used a wide variety of pics. Pet pics, scenery, wildlife, flowers, etc.

Believe it or not, I’ve added a little bit of floor work to my workout routine. I still think floor work alone can only get you so far unless you’re old, weak and feeble, or some 200-pound mama, but it helps, in addition to the Bowflex exercises. I’m only doing my lower body, though. It’s just something extra to do to give extra help to those more problem areas.

Houdini was so cute earlier. I made us a tortilla treat, and he jumped up in my lap as soon as I sat down on the floor, trying desperately to grab a piece before I could get the chance to tear him off a piece and hand it to him. Just like the last time I did a rollover, he’s adapted his schedule to mine. Guess that rat likes me a lot! Ratsy was having trouble breathing and was making these funny noises. Tom said he doubts he has much longer to go, but every time I think that he surprises me with living on and on. He’s a toughie!

Daytime weather’s still hot, but evenings and mornings have become pleasant, even chilly. I won’t need any AC for the rest of the night until the sun comes up. Another week or two, and we’ll be turning the AC off and using heat at night.

Later...

What the fuck is going on? Just what the fuck is this? I was sitting there when all of a sudden I felt wet down there. Well, it turns out I’ve got my period, yet I just had one, although it was half-assed, a couple of weeks ago. This is more than just spots too, although I don’t expect it’ll last long. I expect it’ll drop to spots and that I’ll spot for a week or two till I get another half-assed flow. Just like last time, it started instantly, in the middle of my day. The only thing that’s different this time around is that I have no cramps, whereas the last time I had tons of cramps for so little bleeding. Usually, periods start in your sleep. What is this? Wacky hormones? Menopause setting in early? Something else?

There is some good news. I hit down at 111 pounds! And coincidentally, I recently had a vibe of hitting down at 109 pounds. Finally! I thought I’d never quit bouncing between 112-115 and my not having any vibes or dreams about losing more weight for seemingly so long, was rather discouraging. Anyway, my metabolism’s really speeded up. I’ve been consuming 1500-2000 calories a day lately. I’m starting to feel more and more like my old self like when I was in my 20s. The one who could eat whatever she wanted without worrying about it, although she certainly eats less junk nowadays. The one whose body spit out and rejected calories, for the most part, rather than gladly taking them in to store them as fat. I’m almost a new woman, too! My coffee with sugar in it is almost gone. I’ll be a sugar-free woman in no time!

Despite my lack of desire for my limp-dicked husband, I kind of couldn’t help feeling somewhat bummed and humiliated by his apparent lack of interest in me as I paraded around him naked. He’s had plenty of opportunities too, day after day, but he just doesn’t want me. Does he not want me, or does he not want sex, though? Guess I’ll never know. I may still have a fat face, neck and ass, and I may still be a bit thick-waisted with hips still a little too wide, but I could be worse. I know I don’t look great; certainly not like I did when we first met (although he tells me I’m beautiful), but I’m not an ugly blimp, either.

It got all the way down to the low 60s yesterday before dawn, and I don’t expect we’ll need the AC for the rest of the night. It’s not even 9:00 and it’s already dropped to 77 degrees out there.

She got me. Yeah, but this time it wasn’t the black bitch. It was Doe. Once again, how wonderful it is to know I never have to see my parents again or ever be abused by them again, but what a shame it is to know I have to live with the memories. Memories that pop into my head spontaneously. It doesn’t matter what mood I’m in, where I am, what I’m doing; they can come to mind any time, any day, any place. And believe me, the memories are almost as detrimental to my mental health as the actual events were. They really cause a lot of stress, anxiety, sadness, and sometimes, still a bit of anger, too. How one can hurt over something that happened nearly 25 years ago? Telling myself it’s done and over with, I can’t change the past, move on, don’t think about it, it can’t happen again isn’t always so easy. No one could easily forget that their own mother would’ve left them to die if circumstances had been just a little bit different.

I was forcefully remembering the time I starved myself for a few days at the beach. I had no liquids either. Hey, I was only around 10, so I didn’t know any better about the importance of water. On the third day of no food/liquids, I couldn’t lift my head off the pillow when I awoke. I probably wrote about this before, but anyway, she didn’t feel the least bit sorry for me. Her exact words to me, and I remember them as if she’d said them just yesterday, were, “You did it, you correct it.” 

That’s some mother I had, huh? Yeah, I did a stupid thing, but what do you expect from a kid so young? Utter perfection? If it weren’t for that bedroom being right off the kitchen, and if it weren’t for the cabinets containing food being about 5’ away, I’d be dead for sure. I remember how strenuous it was to get up, grab that Devil Dog out of the cabinet, then hop back into bed. I pretty much fell back into bed. Anyway, I could ever so barely muster up the strength to do this, and I remember it took 10 minutes to slow my heart down and gather enough strength just to eat the damn thing. I think – tell me I wouldn’t have died if the food had been further away or even on another floor. Tell me my own mother wouldn’t have let me die – but she would have. She just didn’t care. Perhaps I did the wrong thing by saving myself. Maybe I should’ve let myself die instead of fighting for my life that day while she played backgammon in the next room with her gal pal Charlotte, determined to have a good time and not let her virtually dying daughter ruin her day. Maybe I should’ve let go and given up, sparing myself many years of emotional and physical grief, and maybe teaching this pitiful excuse of a mother a lesson. Maybe it would’ve served her right if I’d died when I jumped instead of breaking my arm. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Later...

Another hour will mark the date we moved exactly one year ago. I never would’ve believed it in a million years if someone had told me the freeloaders would still be a problem, either!

I feel both rejected and relieved by Tom’s not hitting me for sex after all this time. Maybe I don’t turn him off, but I sure feel like I don’t turn him on, either. I feel like the last time I really turned him on was when we first met. It’s that way for me, too. I know most of his turnoff stems from his baby fears and his stubbornness to admit this to me. I still think something’s wrong with me, but it doesn’t matter cuz a woman doesn’t have to be sterile for a kid to be not meant to be. I just wish he could see this! Even if he opts to never cum again, I wish he could see that there’s no way I could conceive anyway, and if there ever was the slightest chance that I could, he’s made sure that that’ll never happen.

Regardless of who’s afraid of what and of what’s destined, I wish I’d started things off right! I wish I’d let him screw me from the get-go and not been like I was; having to go slow. I wish I’d been on birth control. Maybe that would’ve saved us from a lot of BS; if I had gone by the fact that most guys don’t want kids, and by the fact that I’ve known pretty much all my life that that wasn’t meant to be anyway, and had gotten on birth control or gotten myself permanently fixed.

Sometimes I wonder – did this man, who’s so wonderful and so close to perfect 95% of the time, trick me into marriage by telling me he’d cum regularly and that he wasn’t afraid to have a kid? Did he, and is he still, assuming I’d just throw my life away on account of his cumless dick and fears to just sit home all my life and clean the house? Did he assume I’d give up and lose the desire to pursue my dreams? Well, I definitely lost the desire, and I’d definitely rather be bored here at home with him than worse off all alone somewhere else. If I’m right about any of this, though – how dare he take me for granted like that, assume so much, and risk losing me while doing it! I may not want a kid like I used to, but the point’s still the same – he’s always lied, strung me along, and made such lame excuses about it, and I wish to hell he’d come clean. If he hasn’t yet, he obviously never will level with me honestly about his not cumming, unless he intends to wait till after menopause. Nonetheless, he should’ve leveled with me up front. I had a right to know the truth from the start. Not figure it out for myself in time by watching his actions. If he had had a genuine physical problem or came out and bluntly admitted to not wanting a kid, that would’ve been OK. I’d still have loved him enough to marry him. And whether or not he continues to bullshit me, I’m with him for life either way, but it’d still be nice to hear the truth. Knowing the truth and seeing the truth is one thing, but having it admitted to you is another. I don’t expect I’ll ever get an admission from him like I should have up front, but better a late one than to never receive one at all.

Do I want him to hit on me tomorrow, Sunday, our usual sex day? Yes and no. If he’s reading my journals he’d know I might be ovulating at this time (if I really do) so that may either scare him off or scare him into playing games, which he also finds quite amusing. You know, the one where he “forgets” how to fuck me, or is just too soft altogether. Sometimes he never gets hard, other times he deflates right before he’s about to enter me. Then again, I might’ve mentioned bleeding a couple of weeks ago, and so he wouldn’t necessarily need to read this with his great memory. And he has an easier time, like most of us, remembering the things that are most important to him, too. Anyway, I want him to hit on me so I don’t have to feel like some abnormal freak (something I feel enough of already), and I don’t want to feel like a turnoff, but he turns me off as well, just for different reasons. So, I don’t want him to hit on me, cuz I can’t get aroused because of his predictability and because of his not getting all that into it. It’s hard to get off by someone who doesn’t get off by you, and God only knows I managed to do so for the first year or two. I’m not saying I’d necessarily get off regularly if we suddenly had spontaneous sex where I never knew what to expect in bed from him, and where there was a 50/50 chance of his cumming, but I might more often.

Tom may find me more of a turnoff than any other woman he’s been with, due to how bad I wanted a kid at first and cuz of my aggressiveness, but I don’t think he’s ever been a very sexual person to begin with. He’s just not big on sex and is even sort of prudish. The guy wanted me to shut the blinds in the bedroom one time, and I was like – oh, please! How the hell are people going to see in a house with no lights on, in the daytime, from a few hundred feet away? If it weren’t for his low drive and prudishness, I might wonder if he was cheating. They say that if you’re not getting it from your mate, you’re getting it elsewhere, but this usually applies to those with an appetite.

Got new ink cartridges, and again the black is smudgy. Black, purple, red, and pink text is a bit smeared, but blue and green text is OK. Even so, I managed to print out decent-looking 2001 calendars. What is it with this brand, though? Is it just me that’s getting the defects? I’m sure it is, cuz certainly they couldn’t all be this way, or else they’d be out of business by now. Why is it I always have to be the one to get the defects? Does something up there feel I’m such a defect myself that defective things are a perfect match for me? Damn! Defect this, defect that. Another tire blew, too. It was fixed for free, but must we suffer so much more breakage and hassles than usual?

Got a Social Security statement in the mail showing my barely existent work history. It was kind of neat to see, nonetheless.

Woke up at 112 pounds. I suppose that’s why I can’t shit today, huh? I’ll be back to 115, I’m sure. At least I don’t have to be so stingy with my calories anymore, and can very easily maintain where I’m at as long as I stick to the exercise like I have been consistently doing so for nearly 6 months now. Even so, I’ll only treat myself to the wonderful caramel-flavored cappuccino they make now only once a month. Maybe even less often than that.

For calendars, I printed out Ma’s Christmas calendar, and pictures for calendars we plan to have around the house, but I didn’t do the calendar part of it yet. That’s because Tom’s going to go online to get me a holiday list. I told him I don’t need to know Jewish ones or meaningless ones like Flag Day. I just want the ones that he won’t work on.

Tom just went to bed and I’m recording the individual gymnastics competition.

Shortly after he got in, a knock came at the side door again. My heart started booming almost as bad as UPS had it going. After a couple of knocks on the side door, I saw a uniformed black guy go to the front door and knock there. I thought it was a Palm Harbor rep, and they seemed pretty desperate, so I finally agreed to open the door. His shirt said, “school maintenance” and he said he was looking for a house with a boy who has to walk over 2 miles to a bus stop, and he said they’re looking for a better route for him. He asked Tom how to get to a certain address, but he had no clue any more than I did as to its whereabouts. Why would you go knocking on doors asking for better directions when you can look at a map?

We read together, and Tom sketched an outline of the land, house, and things we plan to build and add to the place. We talked about putting a camera outside so we can see what wildlife and any vehicles that may approach the house. I like the idea (the kind of surveillance camera a bank would use). Also, although it’s very unlikely anyone would want to go out of their way to bust in here, the camera should be a good deterrent to anyone with common sense.

Tom says there’s a cat in the neighborhood. It might live next door, but we’re not sure.

I’m gonna be sending Paula a little Christmas present. I decided I’d send her one of the 2001 calendars I made up that I don’t think came out all that good, although I’d think she’d like it, and a copy of my story. I got an extra copy since Ma was able to make out the smaller print copy. I’ll keep the large print copy I got and send Paula another smaller print copy.

I was saying earlier how people make such big deals out of such little things – well, they made a big fuss about how amazing it was that one of the Olympic swimmers was deaf. You mean you gotta hear yourself swishing through the water to be able to swim? Oh, please!

Another thing that made me just want to reach through the TV and slap some heads, was the silver medal gymnast winners. They cried and got all miserable and depressed over getting the silver and not the gold, and I’m like, it’s just a piece of metal for Christ’s sake! Even if they didn’t get gold, silver or bronze, if I had half their body fitness/muscle/measurements, and half their skills, I’d be on cloud 9. Talk about being greedy and getting bent out of shape for nothing!

Well, I’m gonna go get the oven cleaning. I do it at night when it’s a bit cooler. It’s so cool; just turning a knob and having the oven clean itself without my having to do any scrubbing at all.

Later...

All the all-around medalists were Romanians. They’re the ones that won the gold in the team competition, too. I was glad to see the ones that stripped their silver medals off in disgust during the team competition not get anything for the individual meet, cuz they’re just too spoiled. Selfish little bitches. If you can’t appreciate silver, you don’t deserve shit.

What I saw during a news report only serves as a reminder of how unfair life is. Funny how someone can get away with beating someone up, while I go down for sending non-threatening mail to someone who made my life a living hell for years. I wish I was a black guy! Yeah, a black lady got kicked out of the Olympics for drugs, and cheating – something they love to do, and she and her fiancé were at the airport preparing to leave. Meanwhile, a cameraman films them, the fiancé flips, beats the snot of the cameraman, then gets away with it. The cameraman had to go to the hospital, and this is something that was filmed. You could hear the whole thing, including all the threats, and see most of the action, yet all the cops did was talk to the assholes. No arrests at all were made. Some world we live in. I tell you, it’s a great time to be a minority in this world, and it’s always a great time to be a guy. Wish I could paint myself black and put a dick between my legs on court day!

Tom’s home now. God, I got pissed at him this morning! I felt both insulted and hurt. I still feel that he’s defending those freeloaders and that he’s on their side by the way he’s gotten on my ass for my part in all this and with the way he’s stressed how much he wants me to work out my anger problem with Helen. I feel he feels they did nothing wrong, even though he’s admitted they were noisy and rude. I’ll bet the bitch’s boy toy never says some of the things Tom says to me. Does that cock say he wants her to see a therapist when she rants and raves about me? I’ll bet he doesn’t. Does that cock tell her to “move on” when she bitches about me? I’ll bet not.

It started when I came stumbling out of the bedroom just when he got up. I expressed to him that I was a bit stressed and frustrated cuz the black bitch was eating at my brain like she does on and off, and then he starts in with how he hopes Helen can help me to control my emotions, etc. What an insulting thing to say! As if my emotions aren’t normal with all that’s been going on? I’m being dragged through the mud by the very people who perpetrated me. Of course, I’m going to be somewhat emotional at times. I’m sick of people implying there’s something wrong with me when I show emotion. Can’t someone get stressed out and angry at those who wrong us? I didn’t hit him or harm myself.

Then he insults me further by saying I should move on. Move on? And how can I do that? How can I do that when I have to go and face these fuckers again in court, make weekly calls to Sharon, deal with probation officers, and God knows what else? That is not moving on. When the day comes that I don’t have to do something solely because of them, then I can move on and begin the healing process of what they’ve done to me and put me through, but not until then. And the thing of it is, is that I’ve told him this before when he’s told me to move on. If he’d listened to me he’d know why that’s just not possible while I’m still under this bitch’s thumb. That bitch practically owns me.

I’m just sick of being made to feel like I’m screwed up while he’s perfect. I reminded him that he’s got problems too, yet I don’t suggest he go run to Helen to find out why he blames me for his not cumming and says I’m pressuring him when the real reason has to do with his own fears. I don’t suggest he go run to Helen when he gets moody/frustrated by things I think are the most ridiculous things to get moody/frustrated over. I’ve accepted that unlike me, he doesn’t want to get help for his problems and he never will. Meanwhile, I’ve accepted him as he is, even if some of his ways affect my day-to-day life, so why can’t he accept me? Just because I express myself in a more aggressive manner than he does, and just because I’m not afraid to show/express my emotions, doesn’t mean he’s any better than I am. He’s more content with life and with his ways than I am about life and with my ways, but I’m me and he’s him. Period.

Also, his saying I need help “controlling” my emotions is contrary to what he’s said in the past. In the past, he’s told me not to try to control my emotions and to just let them be whatever they’re going to be. Anyway, although he denies this, he obviously has just as hard of a time with hearing me vent my anger and frustration as I do with having to feel these emotions, so I think it’d be best to bitch about life and the people in it to Helen only. And in my journals, of course. It’s Helen’s job to sit and listen to people bitch, so I might as well get our money’s worth and let her do what she gets paid to do.

This whole freeloader thing has gotten so out of hand and so blown out of proportion. People are either forgetting or just not willing, to see the big picture. The big picture is – they victimized and harassed me. And like I said before, nobody forced that bitch or the people back east to read my mail. All I did was send this bitch mail, not kill her. I never once directly threatened her or her associates in my mail, either. We all get letters and mail we don’t like from time to time. So? Big deal! If you get letters/mail you don’t like – throw them out. If you get messages you don’t want to hear – erase them and move on. But this spiteful, sensitive-in-the-wrong-kind-of-way bitch couldn’t move on, and therefore, I cannot move on. I just can’t believe the big stink people will make out of such petty bullshit! If we all ran to the cops/courts about mail we don’t exactly like or want, the bulk of us would virtually live at the police station and courthouse. You mean, there are actually people out there who can’t handle a few phone calls and a letter or two? I can see it freaking out a woman who got mail/calls from a violent ex or something like that, but good, God! I’d hate to see them try to have to deal with the shit the freeloaders put me through and all kinds of other shit I’ve had to endure during my life. I’ve often thought I was weaker than most people. Maybe not. Maybe they’re the ones that are actually weaker and maybe I’m a little tougher than I’ve given myself credit for.

Later...

Although I was up 18 hours yesterday, I only slept 7. I felt rested enough when I got up at 1:00, though. It’s nice to take a break from the pressures of the alarm. I can’t take weekends off like Tom and most people can from alarms, cuz it fucks my schedule up and makes it hard for me to back it up to where I’m going to bed earlier and able to get up earlier, too.

I’m quite proud of myself for doing hundreds of ab crunches a day. However, and sadly enough, I don’t have anything to show for it. My stomach looks almost exactly like it did months ago. Tom suggested that if I want to change my appearance quicker and shed some more fat to expose my muscle that is definitely there under all this fat, I should cut out my refined sugar intake. For the most part, the only thing I have containing processed sugar is what’s in my coffee, but I don’t have just one cup a day, either; more like 4-6 cups. I have a cup of regular when I get up, then decaf throughout the rest of the day. Perhaps he’s got a good point. A lot of these athletes who work out like I do, although much more extensively, do not allow themselves sugar. It’s not so much how much you eat as it is what you eat. As long as I work out regularly, I don’t have to be stingy with my calorie intake and that’s all well and good, but I still have a layer of flab that jiggles and that I shouldn’t have. Not for as fit and as solid as I am otherwise, and not after paying over a thousand dollars for this exercise equipment. Tom thinks I look thin and fit, but I disagree. I don’t look huge and horrible, but I don’t look like I have any muscle, either. It’s too hidden. If I can shed the fat that’s covering it, then I’ll look thin and fit. When I look at my upper arms, for example, as they hang limply by my sides, I see no muscle tone whatsoever. When I feel the thing, though, that’s a different story. Then I can feel the muscle definition. I can flex the muscles in the shoulder area and see those, but for a home gym like Bowflex, I should be able to see the muscles I’ve got just by standing relaxed. I shouldn’t have to flex them through fat. So, since tea is pretty boring, I’m gonna switch to coffee that you brew and use sugar-free creamers and artificial sweeteners like Sweet-n-Low.

Tom saw his mom, who was stressing out over Mary, which is understandable. Mary’s got an appointment tomorrow. I laughed when Tom said Mary said she’d feel embarrassed that people got all worried for nothing if it turned out not to be a big deal. Better to be embarrassed for nothing than to find out you’re either going to die or you’ve got a rough road ahead of you. She’s a wonderful person; I think she’s got a rough road ahead of her, but will probably be allowed to live.

Don’t know how long Oreo and Butter Rum are gonna live, though. Oreo’s throat tumor is nearly as big as her head, although she doesn’t appear to be in any pain or unable to get around. I just noticed Butter Rum’s tumor on her side yesterday. To say mice and tumors go hand in hand is quite an understatement!

Later...

They got me again. Yeah, the old folks, sister, brother, and the whole sick clan just popped into my mind and I’m having an awfully hard time shooing them out. They’re like cockroaches that just don’t quit! Instead of unpleasant and unwanted thoughts/memories of them bringing anger like they used to, they bring anxiety. Like remembering a car accident or something like that would. I’m just glad I ditched them from my life when I did. No, I wish I’d done it sooner, but better late than never. I can’t believe no one’s been killed yet, and I still firmly believe that as soon as Art or Doe goes, there’ll be major violence at the funeral if not murder, and I’m just sooo glad I won’t be there! Larry, Tammy or Ronnie will go at each other in some way. I just know it, and I’m just so glad I won’t have to be in the middle of it, cuz I’m no little girl anymore. If Ronnie, who’s no match for me, came at me, I know I could never restrain myself from clobbering him. Since around the time I came to Phoenix, I know I wouldn’t have any self-control if anyone were to threaten or come at me. I’m just too bold now to cower down, win or lose. I’ll stand my ground at any cost and not allow myself to be bullied like I have been in the past. It scares me to think – just what would I have done if Larry, Bill, and others were within arm’s reach when I was burning with rage at them? Would I have killed them or beaten them so bad that they would’ve wished to hell I did?

Anyway, it sure would be nice if Helen, or anyone, could give me total amnesia when it came to these people! How I wish to hell I could delete them from my memory!!! I’d do it in a heartbeat. What a depressing thought, though, to know that I’ll have to live with the horrible memories connected to the people back east, plus the blacks and Mexicans, for the rest of my life. They can pop into my head and visit anytime they like and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I guess it’s better that they can intrude upon my thoughts, rather than in my life (even if some of them are still very much a part of my life), but it’s tough enough as it is. Them butting into my thoughts is intruding upon my life.

Tom just went to bed. For the rest of the night, I’ll be reading, listening to music, maybe singing softly, and watching the women’s gymnastics that I’m taping. Although tonight’s games run for 5 hours, you barely get an hour of gymnastics. That’s because they have other events too, along with commercials and interviews with the Olympians.

I’m a bit stressed and depressed right now, but what else is new, huh? If it ain’t one thing, it’s another. I still can’t believe I was ever thrown in jail and forced to go to court for this shit with the blacks, regardless of whether or not she and her cronies did shit to us to deserve it. I mean, it just seems so petty! What a waste of time and money going after me for this. Never once in my mail to her, or to the Mexicans for that matter, did I ever directly threaten them. So she got some mail she didn’t like – big deal! We all get mail/letters we don’t like; should we all go running to the cops about them? This world is so damn sensitive and spiteful! All she had to do was not read it, throw it out, and forget it. Same goes for Bill and Tammy. No one made them read my mail and listen to my calls. If they didn’t want to hear from me, all they had to do was erase my messages without listening to them, and if they didn’t like what I had to say in my letters, they shouldn’t have read them. They should’ve and could’ve just ditched them and moved on.

Although I don’t vibe it as strongly as I did for a while, I still fear going to jail. Not just because of God’s “lock-up” pattern, but cuz the state wouldn’t mind spending the money. They waste money all the time.

If these assholes had been white, would the law have come down on me like it did? Somehow, I doubt it. Like I said, times have changed. You could kill an off-brand in the past and get away with it, no questions asked, but today, if you so much as dare to even look at one wrong, you’ll get lynched for it. Just like all the rights used to go to the whites in the past, all the rights now go to the minorities. Everyone’s quick to believe the word of minorities before the word of whites.

Tom said that he hopes Helen can brighten my outlook on my future. That’s a laugh. If she could do that, then we could’ve done that ourselves by now, but why bother? My future’s my future no matter how I look at it. It’s etched in stone, a done deal, destined to be what it’ll be. I realize more than ever that I’m never going to be fully happy and content with life. The next 35 years will be 85% bad, just like the last 35 years (almost) have been 85% bad. I’m not going to repeat past mistakes again by tricking myself into believing I have a destiny other than the one that’s meant to play out. No, I can’t have a career or a family should I decide I want one, and that’s that. There’s no sense in getting me to think I could have/do things I wanted to, just to be let down and disappointed by reality in the end. This is my destiny. I’m living it right now. I’m going to court for the people who victimized me, I’m cleaning the house, doing my usual hobbies, etc. That’s my life. Period.

At least my life is much better than it used to be and I don’t have as many problems/worries as I used to. I may not be able to pick and choose a career or have a kid, but at least I’ve got my freedom (I hope) that I’ll always be able to keep and hang onto because of not having a kid. At least I’ve got Tom. That’s the most important thing right there, even if we don’t turn each other on (sex really is such a small, insignificant part of a relationship) I don’t have to deal with things alone in an apartment in the city, and I do have some things to look forward to, too. It’ll take time, but I know I’ll get more dolls someday, go to Vegas, play miniature golf, etc. There’s still some life left out there to be lived by me.

I had a hard time getting up when the alarm went off at 9:00 today, cuz I had trouble falling asleep last night, so I decided – fuck it, I’m doing a rollover. I need a break from this little blackie and to take back my life and to have a little teeny bit of control over it, if only for a little while.

I hope to hell I get a chance to express myself in court. After these freeloaders lie about me, I want to be able to tell the truth about them and let the courts know, even though it won’t do me any good, that these people are perpetrators too, and that I’m a victim as well, and let them know why. I feel that keeping quiet about them would not only make me feel like I lacked self-respect, but it’d make me feel like I was covering for these people, and I sure as hell don’t want to protect these assholes from the truth, even if I don’t have the evidence to do them in for their wrongdoings. They’ll never do a day’s time for what they did to me and they’ll never pay a dime for it either, but by God, I’ve got a right to tell my story too, and to let the judge know just what we’re dealing with here!

In my next letter to Paula, which I hope won’t be handwritten, I expressed my concerns to her about the bad vibes I’ve had pertaining to Justin. I didn’t tell her that part of it was logic, having nothing to do with being psychic, cuz of the kind of mother she is. I knew all along this was coming, but it’s getting closer – him being in trouble with the law. We’re talking big stuff, too. I have drug/robbery vibes, but not like I do with assault, rape, and possibly even murder. I didn’t want to scare her, but I felt it my duty as her friend to warn her.

I’m in the mood to write, but I have nothing to say. Perhaps that’s for the better, though, cuz lately, whenever I do have stuff to say, it isn’t good news.

Guess I’ll get on with my scanning project. I’m still scanning in signs from my signing book, then I’m going to crop them, make wallpaper out of them, and print them out when I get new ink.

Later...

Liar. He’s such a liar and I’m sick of it. He’s working out with energy he’s not supposed to have. In reality, he’s got enough energy for sex every day. So it’s not energy he’s lacking, it’s desire. But why can’t he just admit it? I did.

Anyway, UPS scared the shit out of me today. They knocked on the side door and my heart started booming so loud and so fast. I thought it was going to jump right out of my chest. I ran to the living room and looked out the front windows. At first, I saw nothing. Then I saw a UPS truck heading out. We got a letter saying we’re behind on our house payments. Yeah, I suppose I can thank a certain freeloader for that. Anyway, he said that that’s why we’re getting the loan. It went through, but we haven’t received the check yet. After I thought about it, I realized that the cops wouldn’t have knocked on that door. At least the ones that were here didn’t. Their door of choice was the front door to knock on.

I finished scanning all my signs. I changed my mind about printing them out. If I wanted them printed out, I’d have left my sign language book intact. The idea was to convert to an electronic version.

Paula’s going to be getting 3 envelopes from me. That’s cuz I handwrote what I normally print out for her. She normally gets 6 pages of text. Especially with all that’s been going on. Well, those 6 pages of text turned out to be 27 handwritten notebook pages.

Saw another prairie dog by the well again yesterday. I put some salad out, but I don’t know if they got it.

Just when one fear of mine is eased, pertaining to our infamous freeloaders, another one pops up. Tom pointed out that it’s unlikely that the freeloaders would know any of the judges in the courthouse we’re dealing with, cuz she didn’t even know where to sit. That’s nice, but it’s a certain fetish of God’s that worries me. He has an obvious fetish for having me locked up, confined and stuck in places I don’t want to be in. There were the camps I was forced to go to (even if I got kicked out of them), the beach I was made to sit on every goddamn day of the summer, the hospitals and schools I was confined to, the apartments I was stuck in, etc. So, doesn’t it sound like having me go to jail would be something God would allow to happen? That’s totally something he would do. It fits into my pattern, so to speak, and that’s scary.

If there’s anything I learned about Arizonans, it’s that most of the people out here, unlike most of the people back east, tend to spite themselves to get at others. People have their ups and downs in all parts of the country, but out here they’ll make total fools of themselves to bring others down. That’s why I was surprised that the blacks and Mexicans would turn the mail over to the cops; cuz of all the shit I wrote about them, both true and untrue. On the other hand, if I’d sat down and thought about it, I’d have realized – they wouldn’t care. They were too full of hate and venom to care. All that mattered to them, and all they could think of, was getting at me.

Later...

Right now I’ve got mixed emotions about one of my biggest curses – sex. I’m glad he didn’t want it for the second weekend in a row, cuz you know how sick of it and bored I am by it, but now he says he’s gonna start working out again. Well, not that I expect he’ll stick to it, but if he hasn’t got the energy for sex, where’s he gonna get the energy for working out? And if he was too bummed out to screw cuz of Mary, how can he work out? I just don’t get it. I know that from the get-go this man has been terrified of the thought of impregnating me and I know he has a low appetite, but what am I missing here? Just what is it about me that has this man so turned off? I sense there’s something else besides the two basics. It’s more than a lack of desire and a fear of a kid, but what? What is it? Something I said or did? With me it’s simple – I lack the desire to have sex with him cuz he’s too predictable and it’s boring. Also, his lack of desire to cum snuffs out my desire to cum, and it’s not new and exciting anymore. But with him, I feel there’s something else to it. Something I’ve been missing for the last 7 years. Something not so obvious like his baby fear and his not being big on sex to begin with.

Maybe he didn’t touch me this weekend cuz of how I told him I felt I still had irritation down there. I even had him look at me to check for any signs of redness or anything, although he didn’t see any. He said it was up to me whether or not we did anything this weekend, but then I told him, no, it’s up to you (since when is anything about sex up to me?). He said OK.

Other than that, I saw the pickup go by without any music, I’m watching gymnastics in the Olympics, which is in Sydney Australia, and that’s it. Can’t sleep in tomorrow as long as that black bitch owns me. She owns my life, and therefore, I gotta be up cuz Don’s gonna call any time now.

Tom had a good idea for the big plastic pipes the well cocks left; to use them as supports for the porches and fill them in with cement. I like the idea. Then maybe for once and for all I can stop having to play Leak and Bucket, although in this case, it’s Leak and Towel. Having rain seep under one of the doors is better than having rain leak through several spots on the ceiling, but enough is enough of the leak curse! Especially with a brand-new house!

I’m glad today’s Saturday so I can have one more day off of sex, and I hope to hell he’s too stressed out (not that I like to see him suffer), or at least not in the mood to screw around tomorrow. I’m really afraid it’ll hurt. I still have irritation down there that just won’t quit. I know I could be the one to make an excuse, but again, despite the fact that he’d be perfectly content to never have sex again, such as I would be, I feel so guilty! I just can’t get over the guilt of saying no to him, but if I could just get over it since I know, logically speaking, I shouldn’t feel guilty, then I could say no more often to his games and to the same old, same old. But for now, when he approaches me for sex with a little grin on his face as early as 1:00, I just don’t have the strength to say, “No. I know you’re up to something, which no doubt is the I-just-can’t-seem-to-get-in-there game, and I’m not in the mood for it.” Again, it totally amuses this guy to see me turned off.

Let me go cook his chili-mac and vanilla pudding, then I’ll write more. I like to cook for him on weekends. Makes me feel more of a wife, so to speak.

Later...

Here’s the status on Mary: she went to the doctor and they’re gonna do more testing to find out how widespread the cancer is. If it’s contained within her throat, they’ll do radiation therapy, but if it’s spread out, they’ll have to resort to chemo, which means the poor girl will have to go bald and puke her guts out. Now why can’t this be happening to a fucker like the black bitch I’m cursed with? Huh? Why does it have to be someone like Mary?

Mary’s pretty disgusted with David right now and I don’t blame her. After doing a disappearing act for quite a while, David and his family visited Ma on Thursday and she told them about Mary’s case while she was at work. Well, they didn’t even have the decency to call her later on. I know having kids robs you of your life, but that’s downright selfish and insensitive! Ma’s gotta do what she’s gotta do, but again, I’d will very little money to Ray, David and Steven (although who knows how helpful/supportive Steven would’ve been if he’d lived locally), and most of it to Mary and Tom. They’re the ones that have done the most and cared the most.

There’s not much more to say about my visit to Helen. Just that she thinks I should’ve pushed my case with the freeloaders the legal way. Yeah, right! By the time that might’ve gotten me anywhere, I knew we’d be long gone.

I didn’t yet get into my dull and sometimes shitty sex life. I just said that Tom’s a wonderful guy with the exception of the fact that he’s a slob and he sucks in bed. She grinned at that one. She also grinned when I mentioned how where there is one Mexican there are 50 when I was explaining just how many freeloading assholes I had to deal with.

When I told her I didn’t think she could help me with my anger after all this time, she said, “There are no magic words I can say to you, but that there’s a time for learning things.” Maybe, but even so, I have my doubts about her until and if I’m proven differently.

She too, believes there’s a reason for everything, and I told her why I believe in curses as well as blessings. One of the things she said really hurt, and that’s that most of her life has been good, in her opinion. Not that I’m not happy for her, but a good 80%–85% of mine has been bad in some way or another, and this only went to prove that yes, I was singled out for a reason. Why else do some people get what they want in life and find more happiness than others? Maybe there is such a thing as reincarnation and I’m due to be compensated in my next life. Maybe my next life will be mostly good, and maybe I’ll be one of the ones to get the career she wants, to get the kid if she wants it, etc. Tom said the problem he has with the reincarnation belief is that there are more people now than there were years ago, so where did all the souls come from? Good question. Maybe they were created when the new people were created. After all, these souls would’ve had to start somewhere, wouldn’t they? But then there’s been times when the population has dropped, so where do all those souls go and how is it determined which ones come back? I don’t know, maybe the souls that don’t return are the ones that get fried in hell. Still, why has God picked on me so much? I know he’s picked on lots of others too, some in worse ways, but let’s just take me, for example. Why? Why has he been so determined to keep me from much happiness and the things I want? Is it a vengeance thing? A compensation thing? Maybe I already did live, and in my last life, things were great most of the time.

Not that they shouldn’t be, but things have been very quiet around here. No pickup banging by, nor have I even seen it go by quietly. No renters, no Danantics. But of course, now that I’ve written this, it’ll all change.

I still haven’t finished all I discussed with Helen, but that’s simply because I wanted to take a break from the fucking subject. It’s been nothing but black this and Mexican that, just like when I lived with them, and aaarrrggghhh!!! Blacks and Mexicans, courts - I just get sooo fucking sick of them! I started to write earlier, then it was like, enough is enough! I need a time-out from this freeloader shit, even if it’s only for a day or two.

Anyway, back to the freeloaders and the story of my life. It won’t let me do a rollover, despite the fact that no one’s booming and my dentist, therapy and court dates are far enough away because Don could want me to hop on into his office any sec. I just don’t know for sure, but my guess is that I won’t be seeing him for 2-3 weeks, judging by what he told me when I called him yesterday. I can’t take chances, though. I need to be ready, alert and available for whatever may come up, which means I gotta stick to being on days.

I was amazed that I got right through to him on the first try. I called, a woman answered saying, “Pre-sentencing,” I asked for Don, she put me through to his extension, and he picked up. He didn’t sound friendly or like an asshole. He was just there. I have a feeling, though, that things are gonna reverse themselves like they usually do (unless it’s a curse that just won’t quit), and that he’s going to turn out to be a real asshole. I just can’t imagine having two Sheila’s in a row, even if one of them has a dick between their legs. Anyway, he asked me when my sentencing date was, I gave it to him, and he said we still have time, so he’s not worried. Then he told me he still had other cases to go through before he got to mine. He asked whereabouts I lived and that was it till he calls me back. Tom said it could’ve been a test to see if I’d really call. Yeah, I think it was cuz OK – people are incompetent, but even so, I find it hard to believe that the interview lady didn’t know he couldn’t have gotten to my case that fast.

I’ve done major cleaning around here the last couple of days. I just got sick of being bored and wanted to do anything to get these freeloaders off my mind for a while till I’m forced to deal with them again. It needed a good cleaning, too. I gathered up all the dolls and dusted them. I put them all, except for the biggest two, on one of the tables by the mice and took a picture of the crowd, too.

Heard from Dan last night. At least I think I did. There were a couple of times, although it was hard to hear over the fan, where I thought I heard a banger. When I looked out towards Meadow Green, I didn’t see anything either time. The first time I checked Dan’s, his place was dimly lit, including the carport, but I didn’t see any movement. The second time it was brightly lit and I saw the taillights of a car leaving his place, suggesting a banger might’ve visited, but I can’t be sure. What I heard could’ve been a loud, rumbling engine for all I know.

I’m gonna take a break, then I promise to finish up with Helen.

Later...

Just fried up a tortilla, which the rats also love. They weren’t as thrilled with the baked potato skins, though, as I thought they’d be.

I’m kind of bummed about this, cuz I really wanted to get down around 100–105 pounds, but I think it’s time I cut my losses and just settle for being 115 pounds. I just don’t have the willpower to lose any more weight and I’m sick of working so hard. There are worse things in life than being 10-15 pounds overweight, so I think I’ll just move into the maintain status now. I think asking to be 100-105 is as unrealistic as the black bitch was. You’re being unrealistic and setting your expectations too high if you think you can harass people and get away with it without getting some kind of reaction. Well, I’d be just as foolish to think I could lose 10-15 more pounds and keep it off, too.

Since I’ve got all weekend to write about Helen, I’ll start writing my letter to Paula, since it’s obviously going to be a while before I get cartridges.

If only I knew how soon Don wanted to see me. Then I could do a rollover if I wanted to, cuz I won’t see the therapist till October 12th (I guess she’s going on vacation), the dentist till October 23rd, and the courts till October 30th. Well, I’ll find out tomorrow when I’m scheduled to call him. I’m sure he’ll want to see me within a week. He’s going to want to see the person behind the voice.

Anyway, I could do a rollover cuz I doubt they’ll be booming for a while. I was wondering why I hadn’t heard them yesterday or the day before. Well, Tom told me two planes hit that were flying from CA. I was like, already?! I didn’t think they’d crash again so soon after starting flying again.

Later...

With the exception of birds and lizards, Desert Winds Ranch continues to be a ghost town. Haven’t seen any p-dogs or snakes.

OK, now for my trip to see Helen S. Unlike Paul, she was what I pictured her to be; a plain-looking, middle-aged woman. She was fairly petite, fortyish, with close-cropped blond hair. Probably the married-with-children type (depending on how far God allowed her to go with that if that’s what she wanted) and she had the nicest, most comfortable therapy office I’d ever been in. All the other therapists had rooms no bigger than closets, with hard-backed or slightly cushioned chairs you find in most waiting rooms.

Later...

God, why is it that as soon as I get busy doing something, I have to shit? I guess it’s better than being stuck. Anyway, I spotted something good along the way – a p-dog! Yeah, it was down by the well. Still none in the usual spot out front.

Anyway, Helen was in this old house in Tempe that reminded me of the old house next to the small Community Care building in Springfield that I’d see Martha in. It wasn’t as old, but it was still weird being in a house like that cuz there just aren’t many houses in Arizona over 50 years old and with two stories. We stayed on the first floor, though. We came into a little entryway and found paperwork waiting to be filled out. God, I am so sick of filling out forms! No one was at the desk. Helen said something about her secretary being away. Anyway, once she got to be 15 minutes late, I decided to give her a total of a half-hour, or I’d walk. She was 20 minutes late and I asked if she was usually that late, cuz no offense, but $25 was a lot for us to be paying for her to be late. She said I’d still get my 50 minutes and no, she wasn’t usually that late. The 50 minutes flew by fast, too.

She led me back to an office with cute little knickknacks and even a bowl of candy. I sat on a plush loveseat while she sat in a regular chair such as what was in the waiting room. Unlike my other therapists, she scribbled down notes the whole time. From the moment we sat down, it all came flying out. Mostly the events of the last few years. I rambled on and on non-stop. She seemed untouched by most of the things I’d told her. Not that she didn’t necessarily care or empathize with me, but like she’s heard it all. That sort of thing. She may not be able to really relate to anything I’ve told her, though. Her life may have been “too good” for that, in a sense, but I’ll get to that later.

Up front I told her that I talk fast and tend to change subjects a lot and that I have ADD, making it hard for me to focus. I also told her I tend to talk a little loud what with my being hard of hearing, and that due to my loudness, I may sound more emotional than I really am at times.

I didn’t get too much into my childhood yet. There was only so much of my life I could cram into 50 minutes. It’ll take several sessions before she knows it all, so to speak, if I see her several more times. I told her about the blacks and Mexicans, the NHA, and mostly about the events that led me to her. I told her I’ve had a problem with anger, too. I just hope she can remember everything we discussed, despite her notes, since it’ll be a month before we meet again unless the courts make me see someone else. If they do, at least they’ll pay for it.

Later...

I was trying to read, but the black bitch won’t let me. Yeah, it’s that time again where she’s eating away at my thoughts and she just won’t get the fuck out of them. This bitch just doesn’t go away! I know she never will, either. I do fine for a while (although it’s been depressing for me having to face up to knowing my life is truly over) and then she pops into my brain like a bad disease and I can’t kick her out and cure my thoughts of her. She’s just not easy to get rid of when you consider how pissed off she makes me. I got to thinking – if she really does work for the courts, and since she’s already abused her authority this much, how much further can she go? How much further will she go? If she’s pals with any of these judges or has any way of influencing them, I’m fucked. Another thing that worries me is having to pay money directly to this bitch that she certainly doesn’t deserve or is owed by me. This bitch owes me. Hundreds of dollars, and maybe even thousands when this is ever over. Tom said they might make me pay her the cost of changing her phone number, if she did, but I doubt she changed it. I’m sure they’ll find some reason to force me to pay her something since I’ve been forced to do everything else concerning this little fuck, but I can’t see paying for her to change her number as one of them. She’d want me to call her so she could get me into as much trouble as possible.

I’m just sick of people telling me what I gotta do. And where I gotta go. It’s just so unfair! Sooo, so unfair. Life is so fucking backward it isn’t funny. God, kill these fucking freeloaders! And do it in a way so I couldn’t possibly be blamed for it, like a fatal car wreck or something, please! If you have any mercy left for me whatsoever, just a tiny inkling of respect – kill them and give me my life back (not that it ever fully belonged to me)!!!

Always with me, always with them.

All’s been quiet for the last couple of days; no music or gunning. This is Maricopa, though, so that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

I had the strangest cramps today. Not only are my periods getting erratic beyond description, but so are my cramps. Why can’t my period just start and simply stop like it’s supposed to? Why do I have to spot on and off for weeks at a time? It’s gotten to the point that I’m doing this monthly now. Earlier I felt slight cramps that turned into heavy cramps, out of the blue, at such an odd time of day. I thought the 4 ibuprofen tablets I took were going to be worthless, cuz it seemed to take quite a while to relieve the pain. What was strange was that the cramps came in waves. Usually, you either have them or you don’t. They’re a steady thing. Nonetheless, mine came in waves and seemed to be concentrated more on one side. At first I was surprised I had nothing but spots for all those cramps, but then I got more of a flow. More flow than I’ve had in a couple of months or so.

Got another day of freedom where I can just live my life, but come tomorrow, it’ll be time to humiliate myself yet again at the counselor. Not cuz I’m shy or afraid to discuss my troubles, but cuz I feel I’ve been reduced to therapy mostly on account of the blacks and Mexicans, but definitely more by the blacks. We lived together longer, this case is now about them, and they’ve certainly humiliated me much more than the Mexicans. Tom disagrees, but I see having to resort to therapy after all these years as a huge demotion in life. And if I think the last court date was humiliating, wait till next time! Next time is gonna be when the blacks get up and say how horribly I treated them, all the while appearing to be perfectly innocent little angels. I just wish I’d videotaped them and their shit, kept the note, saved the phone messages, etc.! With my shit luck, it wouldn’t have done me any good, though. I’m being compensated for getting off in the past, and I’m sure I’ll also be compensated by the therapist and probation officer. Because Cassandra was so nice, I’m sure Helen won’t be so cool, and because Sheila was cool, I’m sure this cock I gotta deal with will be a major hard-ass. Even Paul said that although most probation officers really do want to work with clients, see them succeed and get them off their caseload, there are a few that are a different story. Yeah, I’ve been in enough funny farms to know all about power-play. There are at least a few power-tripping assholes in every batch of teachers, managers, probation officers, and within any of the more authoritative fields. Well, I’m counting on being stuck with one of those Donna A/Margaret M types.

I don’t expect it’ll do me a damn bit of good, but Tom wrote that character reference letter nevertheless. He wrote it well and I appreciate his doing what he said he was gonna do. Of course, he wouldn’t dare mention that they did stuff to me, too. Much more than I did to them. Again, I don’t think he thinks they really did much wrong. He said something about not wanting it to sound like we hate these people. Well, I certainly hate them, but what he said was fine. He said I was caring, considerate and good with animals. He mentioned how I write to his mom and am seeking counseling for my anger problem. He also wanted to stress that what I did is in the past and not an ongoing thing that stretched into this year.

Neither of us screwed this weekend cuz of all the stress that’s going on. What else is new, huh? It wasn’t just my shit that snuffed our desire, but Tom’s really bumming about Mary having cancer and so am I. It’s just sooo unfortunate and sooo unfair. How do people screw regularly enough to have kids? (those that can have them) Life is one thing after another, so where do they find the time and how do they get horny throughout life’s constant ups and downs? Well, I still get horny and get off even when the shit’s hitting the fan, so maybe it’s just a matter of who we get off with. Unlike when we first met, I can’t get off with him not getting off and not getting all that into it. His fears snuff my desire and I’d just assume to take care of myself. I’m sure he feels the same way but for different reasons. He can’t get off with me cuz he’s too scared I’ll get pregnant. He’d never get off, though, even if I had to have a hysterectomy. To him, getting off after a hysterectomy or menopause would be admitting my beliefs about him were right, so he wouldn’t get off as a cover for the truth, but I can see right through him regardless. Anyway, if I can ever get these freeloaders out of my life for good, it’ll be on to something else. Something that’ll no doubt be an ongoing problem for years, since I rarely have big problems that last just weeks or even months. But you know what? I’ve dealt with these fucking freeloaders being a huge problem for 4 years now, and I’m sick of this shit. Really sick of it! If I gotta be so damn destined for one problem after another, be it long-term or short-term, then I’m ready for a change. A breath of fresh air would be welcomed any time, even if it ain’t so “fresh.”

I could tell by the way I shit this morning that I had been stuck for a couple of days. I practically shit 4 times in a row and was a pound lighter afterward. I guess my metabolism is speeding up over time, cuz I can’t believe all the calories I’m able to get away with lately! Yesterday I had nearly 2000 calories and I thought for sure I’d be 117-118 pounds, but nope. I still need to cut back again to try to lose some more, though. I’ve also increased my workload. Meaning, I’m doing all the exercises every day, rather than some one day and the rest the next. I’m proud of myself for not missing more than 2 days of working out since I began last April. I still have a long way to go, though, and I don’t know if I can go any further, but we’ll see. Like I said, this is right where I got stuck the last time. The only difference is that it’s easier to maintain the 113-115 pounds this time around, whereas the last time, I had to struggle to stay down there cuz my body wanted desperately to get back into the 120s.

Later...

Tom talked to Mary today. She hasn’t seen the oncologist yet, but she has a list of referrals. She’ll probably see someone next week.

I’ve still got mixed emotions about seeing this therapist. What can she tell me that could really help me? If I couldn’t help myself, and if Tom couldn’t help me (although this last round of mail really purged most of the anger in me), then how can this stranger help me? What could she possibly say to me that’d help? Tom says that sometimes it’s the things that are the most obvious that are the answer. The things we least expect. Then he reminded me of how I was the one to solve the computer problem we had, which was something so obvious, yet he’s the one with the expertise.

Although the bulk of my anger towards the people back east has dulled out, and although the same thing would eventually happen with the freeloaders as well, if they’d only get the fuck out of my life and stay out of it (cuz the relief of finally having them out of my life would be so strong that it’d override any other emotion), I don’t know how I’m going to handle future neighbors that piss me off. I just know that I’m not going to deal with them the way I did with the freeloaders. The way I’ll probably handle them will be in the only way I really can without worsening things for myself - by just taking their shit. All one can do with assholes like the freeloaders is just ignore them. 

No, not ignore them. They make that impossible. So, since they can’t be ignored, the best thing to do is nothing. Taking action, legally or not, almost always makes things worse, so I’ll just sit and listen to it the next time I’m near people like that who blast music, party outside for hours at a time, etc.

Another thing that bothers me about seeing a therapist is that it’s just one more thing I gotta do cuz of the freeloaders (I’m sick of doing for the freeloaders!), and while I’m doing this for Tom too, what’s he do for me? Meaning, I quit smoking for the guy, I’m going to therapy for the guy (not that some of this isn’t for me as well), but would he ever go see someone about his not cumming if I asked him to? No, of course not. If it were up to him he’d never discuss it or deal with it. He’s the way he wants to be and I do accept and understand the fact that no one can make people change. The courts can make me see a counselor or a probation officer if they want, but they can’t make me want to or change me in any way. If he’d prefer to make one lame excuse after another about the way he is, and if he’d prefer to stay the way he is – fine, cuz a kid’s the last thing I want to be dealing with anyway, and I still feel the same on that issue as I have for the last few years now. I’m OK with not having a kid. I’m just not that desperate anymore, though I’ll always wonder about it. Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to not having a kid, but I don’t like being controlled by him or God when it comes to my right to choose. It should’ve been my decision to make. The only thing I’m grateful for is that we never had a kid up till now, but if I changed my mind and decided at 40 years old that I wanted a kid again, I should have the right to have one. I didn’t kill anyone. There’s nothing to say I’d treat it like Dureen and Tammy treat their kids, so I should have the freedom of choice.

But I never will. I’m prepared to live my whole life childless, and again, it’s OK. I’d rather be bored than run ragged by a child, and like I said, life’s hard enough as it is. I don’t need to bring a kid into this world to suffer it’s non-stop BS. But I don’t want to hear no bullshit excuses, and I don’t want to be controlled, either.