Got massive updating to do. I was too tired to do it yesterday and too busy the day before that.

I have a quick clip to type up for Mary, but first I want to do some work for myself. She’s going to drive me crazy with all these changes she’s been asking me to make lately! As I told her, let’s finish the beginning before we get to the end. It’s too soon to be worrying about name changes, order, dedications and things like that. We need to get the story written first. Hopefully, she’ll be free by the time that’s done so she can do the organization part of it herself. This is because no one knows better than her, since it’s her story, what the order should be. I changed Todd’s name to Gailyn like she asked me to, but that’s all I’m going to do as far as name changing or else I’ll be even more confused than I already am. I don’t even get this latest change she wants me to make. Something about putting Justin where I think he belongs, and how she called him “friend” or “guy” in the clip where they met, which was apparently through her brother, but I don’t remember her calling him that. The way she wrote it, he introduced himself as Justin from the get-go and she never referred to him as “friend” or “guy.”

The sick fuck acted all concerned over Derek’s abusing her. Meanwhile, the hypocrite was really a carbon copy of Derek many times over. From what Mary’s told me and written, Justin makes Derek seem like a regular little Boy Scout and Derek was plenty bad enough. Enough so that I don’t see how the hell she could write to, talk to or see this sick puppy, let alone let him near Murphy. The guy’s a pervert. Poor Mary had to be embarrassed by his being the neighborhood stripper at one point, jerking off in front of teenagers and all that. I wish we women could be so in love with our bodies the way guys are with theirs! That takes a lot of guts and self-confidence to run around in public naked. Most of us women certainly wouldn’t carry on like that since we’re not the sluts most guys are, but if only we could see ourselves the way guys see themselves. Most guys think they are fine, just fine.

She had also sent me tons of drafts I sent her, explaining how she wanted them organized, but I just didn’t get it. All I could manage to do was to make any omissions/additions she wanted, but that was about it. At least she’s numbering drafts in numerical order so that if two envelopes containing drafts reach me on the same day, I’ll know which comes first. Part of the reason the order made no sense is that we had made some changes after I sent her the drafts she just sent me. So what I did was reprint/send everything I’ve got as it is with the new changes/additions. Then I told her to circle the parts and organize them in numerical order, writing the number inside the left side of each circle. I did some samples for her after I printed out my letter to her. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll just have to wait till she’s free so she can organize it herself. I will teach her the basics of how the word processor works. If I can make sense of the order this time around, though, then I’ll print/send them again, since ink’s no longer an issue. From here on out, though, I hope she’ll be as orderly as she can so we don’t have to do this again!

Other than that, she sent a second letter to Michelle, saying it’s faster that way. Michelle had asked who Feisty Dawn was, so I told her I was Mary’s friend Jodi who was helping her with her book. She’s had to deal with the stench of bleach, which I sure as hell don’t miss, and security overrides. She sent me her aunt’s number and address, but as it turns out, I already have the number. I added her address so I can mail Mary’s disk to her once it’s full.

Mary said she’ll give Teddy Bear my letter to her if she sees her. Yes, I know she will, and I appreciate it, but I’d still bet my favorite dolls on her not seeing her. I think I know the answers, after all, as to why she blew me off. I think she did mean what she said at the time she said it, but after I was gone and she had time to reflect on things, she decided I was too far away and too married to bother with. In other words, she may not have loved me the way I came to love her, but there were definitely enough feelings there on her part. Perhaps if there weren’t, then my being out here and being married wouldn’t have mattered as much. She might’ve also met someone too, along the way, on top of her realizing her feelings were strong enough to stop her from seeing me, in light of the circumstances. Next life, Teddy Bear, next life. Meanwhile, I still think it may all be for the better that we didn’t meet. I mean, what if we’d both fallen so utterly in love and lust? What if I’d left Tom? What if she decided to up and dump me on the streets a year later?

Mary also said she got “Barbie’s” pictures, but as I told her, that ain’t Barbie. I got a kick out of how she said she makes her jealous and makes her want to have surgery, cuz if she feels that way in her 20s, imagine how she’ll feel in her overweight 30s! You just have no concept of this at that age. When you can pretty much eat all you want and not gain weight, you can’t imagine one day waking up and gaining weight from just looking at food!

Although it was a bit premature, Mary gave me a note to Gretchen to head the book with. It was so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. I don’t know if this book will ever get published since writing is such a competitive field (one would have a better chance of getting a record contract, I’d think). Still, it’s really neat to be a part of this.

First PG was incompetent and now they’re ripping us off. As I knew would be the case, I never got the doll. Once again, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I know this is all because of my complaining to them about their constant problems. (as always, people can fuck me over for complaining, but I could never fuck them over if I wanted to) I know they never shipped the doll, too. The question is whether or not we’ll be able to get our money back, but I certainly won’t hold my breath.

When I emailed Tom about what I could find out after researching freedom of speech laws, the mail was returned to me. First it said there was an error in sending it, then, as Tom pointed out, it said “banned subject.” My first thought was, oh my God. You mean the government’s going to tell me what I can/can’t say in my email, too? Yet when I forwarded the returned message to Tom, it went through. Then I did a test, using a certain word, and sent it to myself. It went through without a problem. I don’t know if that’s only because it was to myself or not. Tom was lecturing me about it later, saying now that I’ve been flagged they’re going to watch me, and now they’re building a case against me cuz now they want to get me.

Well, they can build all the cases they want, but sorry, they just can’t “get” me. Never again will I allow myself to be controlled and abused by this system again. I think Tom’s just being paranoid, though. Believe it or not, he can be much more paranoid than I can be. If he were right, though, it would be all about control and money, like most cases are. People will do anything to make a buck, and we do live in a state that values freeloaders as if they were some kind of sacred God, and we do have very strict laws protecting them. They’re chock full of rights and privileges we whities never had. Not even a century ago did we have such protection. When blacks accuse whites of something these days, they at least check it out. Now, though, when it’s the other way around, blacks are automatically believed. It’s like they’re spoiled.

Anyway, I was bitching to Tom again about society’s control freaks and he was insisting that it’s not a case of control if another avenue is available. In other words, if he blocked me from walking through one doorway, it’s not control if there’s another doorway available. I hear his point, but I don’t know if I agree with it. I still feel I’ve been pretty controlled throughout the bulk of my life.

He says that the Supreme Court has decided that violence is connected to those who use racial slurs, but I totally, totally disagree. Where’s the connection in my case? My journal’s full of slurs (though later deleted), so where’s the violence in my case? That’s like saying that those who swear are druggies or that all gays have AIDS.

I’m still glad I got the coffee bean grinder. My coffee still tastes like newly bought ground coffee.

I’m also glad I haven’t had any stomach problems lately. I think either the yogurt, the beef stew, or both, had something to do with the problems I was having.

I did something really cool with some old calendar pictures. I slipped them under the clear plastic under my office chair. It looks neat.

I might not get Felicity in January since we’re going to be getting a kiln. There are about half a dozen Ashton dolls I’d like to gather up over the next year or so. During the year, though, I’m sure they’ll have more that I will want.

Ugh! It’s that time of year again when my hair’s all full of static. It’s so incredibly dry! I wish it would rain like hell, but each year seems to get drier and drier. Especially out here.

Just when I thought the guppies had stopped dying, we lose one more. I think they’re all going to end up dead eventually, but like I said, we’ll just concentrate on mollies and glasses. There are only about 5 guppies left now.

I feel like I’m at a tug-of-war over the sleeping arrangements and sex. I don’t want to sleep together and I don’t want to screw, yet if he’s telling the truth about his wanting to do so, then it kind of puts me in a tough spot. Kind of makes me feel guilty. On the other hand, if this is a case of what goes around coming around, maybe I shouldn’t feel so guilty. Meaning, I wasn’t happy initially with our shit sex life and his apparent lack of interest in having a kid when I wanted that, so maybe it’s just a case of it being his time to suffer, though I don’t want him to. In fact, despite Helen’s literature, it seems so obvious, when I read back during those times, that he didn’t want a kid, and it was awfully naïve of me to have spurts where I thought he did and that God might let me choose what to do with my life. I’m sure he would’ve stuck around and been a good father if we had had an accident and I could’ve conceived, but it’s rather obvious that he was making one excuse after another. He always had a ready answer whenever I’d break down in tears from all the frustration and depression. Anything, so it seemed, to tide me over till my next bout of tears. He never wanted to help himself with making a kid. Instead, he wanted to help me help him get out of it.

Okay, time for my last two shocking subjects for this entry. First, I trapped Little Ratsy! It was a bitch to do, though, and it took me a while.

She’d obviously been getting lonely by the way she was trying more and more to bust through the grille and into the house when we were nearby. I was even feeding her potato chips through the grille yesterday. She was pretty hungry and once I saw her up close, I could see that she wasn’t very healthy-looking, after all, as scrawny as she is. She’s naturally small anyway, but even so, she doesn’t look like a Fancy rat at all size-wise. She’s the size of the wild rat she was born to be.

Anyway, she was trying to push through the retreat’s grille which isn’t screwed down. I lifted it up and she hopped right up. Then I shut the door and threw the grille back in its place. Then, after several minutes of using Raid as mace, since I knew grabbing her by the tail would be impossible and that that type of Raid kills bugs and not animals, I finally got her to run into a box which I uprighted instantly, then dumped her into the mice’s tank. The mice are in a smaller cage for now.

We thought about either dumping her by an abandoned trailer or on a farm and opted for the farm where there’d be more cover, seeds and water. This weekend, Tom will make the dump.

Yesterday I was so stressed out over reporting, never knowing what demand/change I might be in for. To add to it, the pressure to keep awake was on big time, cuz I had gotten up at 6 PM after just 6 hours of sleep, and of course, he doesn’t get to Maricopa till 8 AM. I didn’t get to sleep till noon today, and surprisingly, I got up at 8:30. I thought I’d sleep 10-11 hours. At least I have 3 whole weeks off from him and I doubt he’ll come to the house between now and then. He didn’t mention it, anyway.

I thought about Mary and how she said she gave her anguish over Todd to God. How can one do that?! How I wish I had the power and the control to dump my own stress and frustrations on him! I’d dump it on just about anyone if I could.

Although I disagree with most of the affirmations I typed up for Mary, there are some things I agree with. I, too, believe things happen for a reason. Teddy Bear happened obviously because she was a curse. A combination of teasing/punishment. Mary’s a blessing, however. She has been a good friend to me in every sense of the word. She accepts me as I am, doesn’t push her beliefs on me, is honest, compassionate, etc.

I simply can’t believe for an instant, though, that all we have to do is just ask and God will grant us our prayers. If that were true we’d all have everything we wanted. During my pre-report stress, I toyed with the idea of begging God to call these freeloaders off and to give me a break, but I knew all the pleading in the world would fall upon deaf ears. He wanted this for me. Why should he ease my stress when that’s why he sicced these sickos on me in the first place? If he didn’t want me to suffer, none of this shit would’ve happened, despite my making friends with Mary and all I’ve learned about jail, the system, etc. If it isn’t him that wants me to suffer, then something else does. Something that God doesn’t have the power to intercept. Still, I don’t know if I believe there’s both a God and a devil. For all I know, there may be just one big entity that’s both good and evil.

Anyway, I’m even willing to sacrifice my health to get these people off my back, and any others like them that may be lurking about in the future. Meaning that if I absolutely have to have one long-term problem after another, at least if I developed health problems, I would have no one to blame but God. I couldn’t blame myself, I couldn’t blame Tom, I couldn’t blame neighbors. I’m dead serious, too. I’ll be a sickly little thing if I’m doomed to suffer. I’ll take colds, flu, infections, whatever. As long as I don’t have to break any bones or undergo anything too painful. However, I just can’t bring myself to ask God to take my health as a replacement. Not just because I doubt he would, but because I simply can’t kiss the hand that slaps me.

What am I supposed to do, though? Abuse my own self a year from now? At least that way, if I must be abused, at least it could be by my own hand.

So now for my second shocker. I sat down next to Scot and he started off by saying, “You’ve done two years, right? I sent in your progress report and I told them you’ve done your community service, you’ve had your mental health screening, you’re up to date on your payments…” this is when I expected to hear that they still wanted me to take classes, but instead I got, “…and there’s really nothing more I can accomplish with you on probation, so I asked them to consider letting you go, although I highly doubt they will since the victim (oh, how it bothers me to hear her called that!) was very vocal about it and would probably pitch a fit if they went for an early release.”

Well, of course she would, and I know all about her vocal antics. I lived with it for 3 years, then one day it ended up at our door, so I’m sure she was quite vocal in the matter. All lies too, of course.

I know better, though, than to even think they’ll consider letting me get on with my life as much as I wish someone would look at the big picture and do the right thing. The big picture meaning guilty or not, racist or not, should anyone do 3 years for a letter?

However, I know they’ll just laugh at Scot’s recommendations and suggestions. They’re going to look at me, see my Jewish, white face, then see that the so-called poor, poor victim is black, and that’ll be all that’ll matter to these people. That and the loss of our $40 a month and me to control. All the black bitch will do if the subject of early release is brought up is cry racism, people will feel bad for them, and I’ll still have to suffer for another year. This is one of those few cases where the courts will side with a civilian over a law enforcement official. These sickos are the types of people who hold grudges forever. They’d have been elated had I gotten the death penalty. They’re spiteful, vindictive people who just don’t quit. They don’t give up, they don’t let go, they don’t move on, and they don’t forgive, not that there’s a damn thing to forgive me for since I didn’t do anything wrong.

God would never give me the satisfaction of getting out of this shit a year early and of knowing that she’d have to live with it, and it’s quite an understatement to say that that’d be the ultimate Christmas present. I just wish he’d at least stop protecting these people! And if the state can’t do the right thing, then couldn’t they at least consider dropping me to unsupervised probation where they still get their damn money but I don’t report or get bugged at home?

I’m both shocked and pleased that Scot cared enough to put in a good word for me, but it doesn’t do me much good when all the people who are on my side have no power to help me. Maybe he’ll at least not bother coming to the house more than once or twice more, if ever again. I highly doubt he’ll ever come as much as he did between last January - March at this point, but couldn’t he at least have a heart, bend his rules a bit, and drop me to just once a month? If this state simply can’t say, “Okay, enough’s enough. She’s paid more than dearly for such petty bullshit. Give the poor girl a break!” he should do something. Why does everything out here have to be so all or nothing? These people are just as extreme as they are sensitive!

I know there’s no point in hoping, wishing or praying, though. It’s totally hopeless. The fact alone that it’s already been two weeks with Scot not hearing anything in regards to the matter, tells me so. I know I’ve just got to grin and bear one more year of being victimized by the system in regard to this bullshit. I was barely 30 years old when it all began and will be nearly 38 when it’s finally over. That means that 80% of my 30s will be spent under various forms of control by the freeloaders.

They own me. Always with me, always with them.

As funny as it may sound, there may be some good in my not being allowed to seize my life from these people as that would infuriate the holy hell out of them. Oh, how pissed they’d be! They’d be beyond furious! It would make me wonder if the rage they would no doubt feel would inspire them to come out here. I know they know where we live. Besides, these people really truly believe in their hearts that they’re the true victims in this case. Either way, though, you don’t give whites breaks where non-whites are concerned without starting some serious rage. It might not spark city-wide riots, but it could cause enough harm to either us personally or our property. I’ve heard of plenty of “victims,” however real or imaginary they might’ve been, bitch about their perps being cut loose early, but unfortunately for me, the freeloaders will never have to worry about being one of the ones to have to bitch, too. If my complaining about their noise could piss them off as much as it did and cause them to do as much harm as they already have, there’s no saying how far they’d go over an early release. It could really drive them over the edge.

I’ll just have to try to look at the bright side of our impending trips to Casa Grande. As Tom pointed out, at least there are more stores around there, and maybe there’ll be times when Scot will just take my forms over the counter at the desk and let me go without dragging me back into his office for a chatting session.

He was a little chatty today, in his friendlier mood. I told him my New Year’s resolution was to lose 25 pounds. Then after he and Tom said they wanted to lose weight too, I said I’d see him next when I was 37. He said he’d be turning 37 before that, and after we left I gave Tom one of my I-told-you-so’s. I knew he was in his late 30s to early 40s and not the late 20s to early 30s.