Tomorrow’s Andy’s 40th birthday. And what is your life like today, Mr. M? I should know better than to ask. I’d be awfully surprised if he weren’t in the same situation he was in in 1999 - jobless, high and horny.

Anyway, Tom and I discussed Fat Cheeks and its becoming more of a pest these days. If it sticks to its schedule, it’ll be here between February 25th and March 7th. If it comes knocking again while I’m sleeping, I’m ignoring him. Totally ignoring him. At first I was afraid to do so for fear of him becoming all paranoid that we were trying to hide something in here. Especially if he sees the car and knows Tom’s home. But you know what? It’s our fucking house, I don’t have to let him in, and he can think whatever he wants.

Meanwhile, during the times I’m awake, he gets two shots a month at this house and no more. Meaning, even if I’m awake, if he came three times in the same month, he’s not getting in that last time.

At first I thought about trying to maintain a day schedule again, but nope. I’ve rearranged enough of my life on account of these freeloaders who wake me up more here than they did from just a few feet away. Between the times I’ve been woken up here for them, as well as in jail, I truly believe that something’s punishing me for every time the fan allowed me to sleep through their shit. I was woken up for every person I woke up during my prank phone call days, and now I’m being woken up for every time the fan let me sleep through the freeloaders’ shit.

Tom still thinks that someone new in the area just went on probation and that eventually, the unwanted visits will back off. But there are not that many people in the area to begin with! It just goes to prove how many people in this state wind up on probation. Nonetheless, I should know soon enough if that’s the case or if he’s up to no good. God help him, like I said before, if he fucks with me, and that’s not a threat. That’s a fact.

I was kind of hoping that a little courtesy and a little common sense would back him off for Tom’s sake, now that he knows he’s working nights, but I don’t know. He strikes me as a very selfish and inconsiderate person.

Unless it’s wishful thinking, I still see my Teddy Bear here in May. Just 75 days till I send the letter! I just hope she’s not disappointed in me for not losing weight like I said I would. I just don’t want it bad enough to not eat. I also hope her looks haven’t changed for the worse. Meaning, I hope she hasn’t hacked her hair off or something like that. I hate short hair. A small, microscopic part of me wishes she won’t show up so that I can enjoy food and be as fat as my body wants to be, without having to worry about what she thinks about it, though she’s no skinny mini herself. Also, I’m sick of long hair. I want to cut it to my shoulders, but somehow, I get the feeling that she likes it long like Tom does. But I don’t care about Tom’s opinions as far as my looks go because I’m no longer attracted to Tom sexually or want to get it on with him. Teddy Bear’s the current object of my desire. It’s just that this one, for once and for all, may be a reality. She’s no celebrity I’ll never meet, or some straight, prejudiced snob like Rosemarie was at the Vista.

Today Tom’s going to take apart the AC. Good, we need to know how many hundreds of dollars this shit’s going to cost us, and how much money we’re going to be forced to lose by the Gods that are just dying to see us get ahead in life after how hard we’ve worked and all we’ve been through, on these fences and landscaping that’s never going to happen. At least, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen.

Guess now’s a good time to mention “chickenmax” at AOL. I think that email address belongs to the one and only Dureen and Art O. Not that I’d ever want to resume a relationship with them, their daughter or their son, but I found the idea of sharing my story with them rather amusing, and so I have been little by little. I haven’t received any replies to this date, which makes me think all the more that that address is theirs. I had tried different combos, knowing that people usually use things they can relate to, like birds, flags, poodles, etc., until I came up with chickenmax. Chicken was their bird’s name, and Max was the dog’s name.

If it wasn’t them, wouldn’t they have either blocked me out or told me they didn’t know me and asked me who the hell I was?