I got word a couple of days ago that Amelia’s out of stock till the 20th of this month. I was surprised cuz she’s been out a while now, and not surprised cuz she’s a blond, blue-eyed Victorian, the most popular combination. For someone who’s always preferred themes more like ballerinas, fairies, angels and Indians, I still can’t believe I ordered a Victorian doll! If she’s shipped on Monday the 29th, and if they and the PO don’t fuck up, then I should have her between the 3rd and the 7th.

It’s still hard to believe we’re coming up on it being 3 years since we moved here, though we would be forced to play trailer and hotel for the first 4 months, and the freeloaders would steal 6 months from me altogether.

What a size difference as opposed to the little lot we had in Phoenix! You could fit the average apartment complex on this land!

It’s just now starting to cool down. The day’s highs are slipping under the triple-digit range, though it’s still hot.

Mary’s “large picture” was returned to me, and sure enough, it was the tulip stationary that was the issue. Still, I’m not going to send anything but text.

Tom came in from work yesterday morning through the front door. That’s because Diamond was sleeping under the side stairs. The prairie dogs didn’t claim the food I threw out for them till 10:30, an hour after I checked and found that Diamond had moved on. Yes, I’d say this snake definitely lives here and that this does explain the lack of mice breaking in through our vents. I am just so glad, that like with rodents, I’m not scared of snakes so I can live here! If only I weren’t afraid of spiders and bees! Except for things like little gnats and flies, I hate all bugs, just about. Scorpions, cockroaches – I hate ‘em all.

I awoke last night at 9:00 and was still tired. I hate it when I wake up when I’m still tired yet unable to fall back asleep. So I got up, had a bite to eat, watched an hour-long show, then took a Melatonin. Then, after being chased through a warehouse by dead bodies during a 3-hour nap, I got up to watch Shelley, then take a shower. Now I’m just waiting for Tom. He should be in any sec with mail from Mary since it’s been a few days since he’s been to that box.

Later…

I just can’t believe how dense and green the tree outside my office has become! The prairie dogs would have a hell of a time climbing it now, not that I think they’d bother. I guess Diamond has them scared cuz they’re staying away from the house. I see them out and about, but they’re closer to the road. In fact, I decided to stop getting them carrots and keeping water out there. They’re barely drinking it these days anyway. I went out and threw the carrots out further. Now they’re just a few yards away from where they’re hanging out and they still won’t take them.

Only about a month left to go before the prairie dogs hibernate. I wonder why they do and why they came out of hibernation earlier last year than the year before.

I’m seeing more big iguanas again lately. They don’t eat prairie dogs, though. They’d be too big for them.

Finally! I just saw a prairie dog swipe a carrot.

This fucking stock of ours just won’t sell! We have a sell order in for 72. It hit 70 yesterday, then dropped to 68. Something is trying to keep me from the classes and it’s holding up the truck, too. This is how I know the fences won’t be up close to January. January’s stock cash-out will turn into February’s stock cash-out. Then we’ll have to wait two weeks for the money. Then we’ll have to wait for a surveyor to come out and mark the exact property lines. Then we’ll have to make the time to haul in the stuff. Then we’ll have to find time to do the installation. Besides, it’s just like I said; for whatever twisted reason(s) God’s sicced the freeloaders on me and he’s not going to let me cut corners. He’s not gonna let me fence Scot out before I get down to having at least 4 months left.

Then Tom came up with a good idea. Maybe we should cut classes altogether and just get the kiln, get instruction books and supplies, and figure it all out for ourselves. Then, if worse came to worse we could still take classes if we were having trouble striking out on our own. As I told Tom, though, that’s not the issue. The issue is that God doesn’t like Jodi to do what Jodi wants to do. Instead, it has to be what other people, him, fate or circumstances say I have to do. Sometimes I wonder why he gave me a mind if he knew he wasn’t going to let me use it most of the time. Anyway, if he doesn’t want me making dolls, I’m not going to be making dolls no matter how I go about it. He wouldn’t let me be a singer when I once wanted to, nor would he let me be a mom when I once wanted to, so why would he let me do this? At least I could still collect dolls if I couldn’t make any. I don’t believe in prayer, as I told Mary, but I know she does. I’m sure she understands that after all I’ve been through, it’s a little hard for me to want to run to God for help, so maybe she can beg him to give me a break and let me have my way just this once. I think I’d really enjoy it, even if some of it would be hard work and a real bitch. If her praying didn’t help, at least it couldn’t hurt, could it?

The more I think about it, though, the more I like the idea of starting on our own. That way we can do it on our schedules and at our convenience. Instead of starting with the dolls in the 20s and 30s, I’d start with more like 15” dolls. I always was the self-taught type, too. Never did I once have a formal Spanish class. Then, if worse came to worse and I either hated it or just couldn’t do it, we could either sell the kiln or use it for other things. We think we can get a decent one for as low as $300.

Lately, Tom’s the psychic and not me. I used to have a damn good accuracy rate for predicting winning scratch tickets, but lately I’m not psychic with anything. He bought a couple of bingo tickets saying he had a vibe and one of them won.

As is usually the case, my printer’s fucked up. I can’t keep refilling these old cartridges anymore. I need new ones. I have no black, virtually no blue, and pink is barely legible. I sent poor Mary a very fuzzy letter. I think she’ll make it out, though, if not, she can let me know.

I got 4 bushels of drafts from her today. At first I was like – what the hell? But it looks like I’ll be able to figure out the order as I go through them. I got envelope numbers 1, 2, 4, & 7, but there was no 5 or 6. She also had me confused when she said something about changing the rain to snow in her enclosed note cuz she didn’t say which draft to do so in. I think I figured that one out, though. Then she said that a certain draft was supposed to come after the one in #7, and I was like – well then why is it in #2 and not #8 since 8 comes after 7? I’ll try to figure it out without getting too frustrated, but she really ought to start numbering every single page and not the envelopes. Meaning, if her first letter has 20 pages worth of drafts, she should have that be pages 1-20. Then if her next envelope has 10 pages of drafts, number them 21-30. She should be sure to leave herself notes so she always knows what page number she left off with. It’s the only way I’m going to get more of this stuff organized properly.

Meanwhile, I’ll try my best, but if I’m not sure where something goes, I’ll just type it as I receive it, then she can one day go through it and organize it with a publisher, which goes without saying anyway. She’ll still have to do that anyway. I’m not even going to bother breaking her stuff into 3 files anymore either (preteens, teens, adult). Besides, some adult clips contain childhood memories. I’m going to just throw it all together in one file. As soon as it fills a disk, I’ll send it to her aunt, like I said before.

She said she’d send me her organized drafts before leaving for Florida, which is fine, but what does she mean by “different segments?” She said they’re different segments but organized. I just hope the Shadow Men don’t steal them before she leaves like they stole a page or two of my journal (at least they’re on the computer). Fortunately, that was all I had on me at the time, or else I’d have lost everything had I not been sending it home regularly. And all because of one word and how important it is that Jodi S likes and accepts them. Had I written words like asshole, bitch, white trash, etc, no one would’ve touched them. Again, though, they were just taking some things just to be taking them.

She says they’re now selling tuna for commissary. Wow! Anything to make a buck, I guess. I wish they’d sold soda a lot sooner than they did. They didn’t start that till right before I left. I loved the strawberry soda. The grape was pretty good, too.

I feel so bad for her and can truly relate to how she describes feeling alienated as a child. She was dumped by her mother in a convent at such a young age without being told where she was going, just like my mother tried to pawn me off on anyone she could, be it camps, aunts and uncles, funny farms, private prison-like schools, etc. She couldn’t accept me as I was. This depressed me and she couldn’t deal with it. It was easier to send me away and allow me to be made a guinea pig.

And how right she was in saying we never forget our parents. I wish I could forget them and everyone else in that demented family. If I could zap them out of my brain like a computer file can be deleted from its brain, they’re the first thing I’d go for.

I could never find a resolution in forgiveness, though. I think the line has to be drawn somewhere as far as forgiveness goes, and that family definitely crossed the line. They crossed the line many years before I finally mustered up enough self-respect to walk out on them for good. One can only forgive so many times before one realizes that their willingness to forgive only gets taken advantage of and put through the same old cycle of abuse every time one forgives someone. Some people see your forgiveness as an open invitation to fuck with you again and that’s exactly what they did. They made a lot of my adulthood hell and virtually all of my childhood a living nightmare. I can’t forgive that.

I know exactly what would happen if I called my folks. What would happen is that they’d act like nothing ever happened, they’d shower me with care packages and a little money every now and then, then I’d have to hear all about how I should be out working and not home playing on a computer all day.

Then when they came to visit I’d have to hear all about how my bowls and dishes should match. Then, after the snide remarks about my short dress, purple lipstick and metallic blue nails, I’d have to sit and listen to how I was forbidden to get myself involved in any family business while the hypocrites that they are would be doing just that – sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

Then when they went home they’d tell all their friends, Marty, Ruth, and their other kids everything we discussed and then some.

Well, you know what? I don’t care if these people are my folks, my cousins, old friends, old coworkers, old neighbors, old classmates – they’re simply not the types of characters I wish to associate with. I don’t need shit like they would bring into our lives and I’m 100% certain I’ll never change my mind.