I’m up early and surprisingly not so tired for someone who only slept 4-5 hours. Guess my body’s getting used to this shit, although I may nap later. I’m amazed I slept through the tent doors slamming. Sounds like bombs exploding in here!

Nancy and next door haven’t been out yet, but 4 has. All they’ve done so far is stomp real loud going up the stairs to lock down once their hour was up. They won’t go yelling shit till late afternoon – early evening.

Wait till I tell Helen I’m not so likable after all!

Last night I heard Chavez say, “How is it against the law?” when she was passing Nancy’s door. I’ll bet you anything that was over her bitching about my journal.

Nine weeks (63 days) left of this shit!

---

Well, it looks like I have a friend upstairs. Gracie, the one headed for prison. She looks a bit butchy but seems nice. She came to my door and said hi and asked me how I was, then asked for bread. I don’t know if she or her celly would make good cellies, though. They beg for bread constantly, so that may mean they’d beg for commissary, too. They’re also religious because I see them meet with the religious lady, and those are sometimes pushy. However, at this point I’d rather a religious beggar than some psycho who’s calm one minute, laughing the next, then crying, then bitching, and so on and so forth. Speaking of a certain psycho – it looks like it lost its hour out. I was first at 8:30. They don’t start doing hour outs before 8:00–8:30. After me came 4, 5 and 1, but no 3.

Of course Chambers couldn’t be on today when I really could use a little chat with her, but Brea’s cool enough. She knows what’s going on and reassured me that I’d be OK. I hope so! You never know in this jungle.

Wouldn’t it be funny if Arajo was on tonight? Arajo does not like Nancy and she’d be worth mentioning the pen and blankets to.

I thought about scribbling a threatening note from all of them to me, but I know I’d be the one to go down for it, so I’m not going to bother. I’d rather ignore these people as long as they’ll let me. I’m surprised room 1 wasn’t at my door, and I haven’t heard any vent shit yet, but it’s early.

I don’t know if Brea knows about the shit I’ve been getting from 1 and 4, but she knew Nancy threatened me, so Chavez did keep her word about informing others.

She offered me a book earlier and smiled and waved before she left.

---

Gibb is on now. I guess I don’t have to worry about spreading the word. The DOs are all telling each other. I saw Brea gesture towards this room, and Gibb said she knew about it.

I just dread my next celly! If they can’t shut up – fine. If they beg – fine. I just don’t want some moody nutjob judging shit about me they don’t even know. It just ain’t hip to be a homemaker in this day and age, but I’ll be damned if I’ll kiss society’s ass and mold myself into what it thinks I should be. I am who I am. Period. If you don’t like me, then don’t have anything to do with me.

Tom feels it’s not important who gets the money, as long as one of us gets it. His attitude is – so what if he gets the money and the groceries, as long as one of us gets it? And so what if I do the laundry and the cleaning, as long as one of us does it? Most people don’t feel that way, though. In today’s world, you don’t cook, you don’t clean, and you both work, gay or straight, male or female.

I feel like a ticking time bomb here. There’s only so far I can be pushed and so long I can keep a leash on my temper before it explodes. If I get threatened again by a celly, my temper’s going to blow, I’m going to beat the shit out of them, and it won’t matter who’s bigger or with more muscle. I have muscle too, on top of a killer temper and that’s often all it takes. That, and being underestimated.

It’s ironic how Rule told me to lie about being threatened, then I come here and get threatened for real! Must be my payback for threatening Ida. I figured it’d happen sooner or later. It does to everyone in here, just about.

This cell is colder. Lower-tier cells always are.

I have my head where it’s just a couple of feet from the desk to give me a little more privacy from the stairs, figuring – what the fuck? Even though the next bitch will be stepping right by my head in order to climb up to the top bunk, she’s going to be waking me up anyway, so it doesn’t matter where I lay. I can sleep through most outside sounds, but I can’t adapt to sounds inside the cell.

---

What the hell? What’s Lisa doing smiling and waving to me? She’s not nearly as bad as her cellies, but isn’t she supposed to be one of my enemies? Well, I waved back. I can see right through the underside of the stairs when people go up and down.

I did snitch on Nancy, after all. Gibb found the news interesting when I told her what goodies she had. I don’t know if she found them, but she took one of the mattresses out of that room.

It’s obvious that the DOs are on my side. If it weren’t for their support and encouragement on top of Tom’s – forget it! I could never survive this zoo.

Gibb was telling me that the reason I’m probably getting it worse from Myra and Mindy is that this was their little cell, but that’s not just it. They’re pissed because I told the rude religious lady to beat it because we were starving after our food was sitting there getting cold for a half-hour, and because of Nancy’s yelling shit at them while I was unfortunate enough to be her celly at the time. They consider me to be a part of it, even though I never said a word.

Boy, are Nancy and Myra really paranoid about the journals! I would be too if I were them. Myra’s already threatening to have her layer slap me with a lawsuit.

Gee, I’m really scared! These people are so fucked, so immature and so stupid that it’s almost funny.

I know it’s raining outside because the radio told me so, but why does it smell like rain in here? Oh well. It’s better than bleach.

---

Wow! That’s 4 edible dinners in a row. Tomorrow’s weenies for sure, but that’s OK. It’s commissary night.

I hope Tom’s not going to be overwhelmed with the way I’ve been writing like crazy. I have nothing else to do, and it’s my only real way to cope and vent all this shit. Thank God we moved. I can just imagine how many of these envelopes would’ve ended up at the wrong place!

I stupidly gave Nancy our PO Box address when she had me feeling all sorry for her for being alone (now I know why she’s alone). She’ll probably never write, but if she does, since I know just what kind of letter she’d write, should I trash it without reading it? Read it, then trash it? Or go the freeloader way and run to the piggies with it?

I’ll probably be an adult about it and ignore mail I’m not interested in. She can’t make me read anything I don’t want to.

Everyone was laughing, including myself, at how Gibb pissed her off. Nancy thinks I owe her “rent” for using the pen the 2-3 days I used it, and she was bitching to Gibb that I owe her commissary. Gibb was like, “That’s your problem. No borrowing, trading or lending commissary.”

When Gibb asked me about it and I told her I didn’t owe her shit, she said she didn’t think so.

This next part, I must admit is funny. Nancy yelled down from her room when I went to get my dinner that I still owe her. Then when she came down to dump her tray she yelled, “I want those journals! I want them, OK?”

Yeah, I’ll just hand them right over, bitch.

Like most cells, this one’s got its pros and cons. It’s the second room to get served chow instead of the last, it’s further from the TV (although I sometimes wish they’d crank it up and drown out these animals), and a quicker walk in the mornings for clothes exchanges. I don’t even have to take the time to put my shoes on. I only do when I’m on the upper tier because these grille stairs are a killer to bare feet.

I’ll finish up this page and get it safely into the tower by saying – I want to go home! Fuck the fucking freeloaders that put me here!