The cheeks popped in yesterday at 11:30. I knew he’d come this week since he didn’t last week. Good. Gets him out of my hair for at least two weeks, as far as home visits go, but truthfully, I’d rather he come here than me go there. That way, I could just ignore him if I wanted to. It gives me a little more control for a change instead of the other party always being the one in control. After seeing him today, like I have to, I might not let him in if he returns before the month is out like I believe he will during that long 3-week stretch, even if I’m up. This is simply because he just doesn’t need to see me 4 times in one month over a letter. He doesn’t need to see me as much as he has already.

He came in during one of the rap songs I was playing. That must’ve surprised him.

His visit left me with strange vibes that were even sort of creepy. He seemed all wired up like he was nervous or something. He’s been that way before when we were alone together, though I don’t know why. What does he think I’m gonna do? Attack him?

He then asked what we usually do with our garbage and I told him he takes it into the city, forgetting to mention that we take some of it to Gina at the recycling center, but it’s none of his business anyway.

He asked if Tom was at work and I told him that he was mainly on days this week.

Then he weirded out on me on his way out, saying that the small wooden bull that sits by the rat’s graves looked like a little dog, asking me why it was there. Or maybe he’s just plain stupid, something he’s already proven to be. This guy’s like most of society; room temp IQ.

Not even the smallest dog in the world is as small as that thing! How could he possibly think that was a dog? If he just wanted to know what was there, all he had to do was ask. For a minute there, he had me wondering if he wasn’t just itching to find something wrong, but I know that if he decided to fuck with me, he wouldn’t have to find anything wrong in a place that has nothing wrong in it to begin with. All he’d have to do is plant shit, and the idea of the possibility really worries me, too. He could plant a rifle under the house, for all I know. Take a bag of coke out of his pocket when I’m not looking and say, “Well, well, well. Look what I found.”

I’m not saying he’s out to get me since he hasn’t pulled any shit on me yet, but knowing the possibility’s always there is unnerving. Trusting anyone in law enforcement, except for Teddy Bear, has become virtually impossible for me. In light of all I’ve been through, I’m always paranoid and suspicious of their intentions.

I don’t know what good it’d do me, but maybe telling Scot about Teddy Bear would be a good thing. He has his law connections and I’ve got mine, and if he knows that, maybe he’d be less hesitant to mess with me if he ever decided to.