This is certainly a surprise change in weather. I had just finished listening to music and when I stood up, I heard this steady sound. I was like, what the hell is that? My first thought was that it was the heat hissing through the vents, but as I passed by them, I didn’t feel the air moving. Besides, I knew it was still a few degrees away from coming on. The heat’s set to come on at 69°. When I went into the living room, I realized it was pouring down rain. It rained rather hard and for quite some time too, with gusts of wind to help the rain leak in the back door.

I decided to end my book, A New Life, a New Love, and I’m not happy with the way it turned out. I just ran out of ideas. This is why I could never be a romance writer – because without the suspenseful, adventurous twists murder mysteries have, it’d make for such dull writing/reading. At least, in my opinion, it would. Murder and mayhem seem to be my thing. Maybe that’s why there are so many more mystery writers out there than romance writers. What much more can you add to a romance book after they meet, fall in love and get it on? Either way, I’ll still save and print out this boring, gone-nowhere story for Tom and Mary. It seems I do best with characters who are either in law enforcement, medicine or the performing arts.

Anyway, all that really happened in the story was that a young girl gets hit by a car and is found with no ID on her. Neurologist Rene names her Katrina and the two fall for each other while Katrina undergoes all kinds of therapy to help her amnesia and partial paralysis. Eventually, her ex-girlfriend goes to see her in the hospital and Katrina, whose name is really Brittany, gets her memory back bit by bit. She decides to take Rene’s offer to live with her because her family was abusive.

My next book, Imprisoned Love, will have the usual suspense I like to both read and write. It’ll mainly be about a prisoner who falls for a guard who isn’t always nice to her. Sometimes she is, though, and so the prisoner ends up sort of torn between wanting nothing to do with the guard and wanting to hang onto her as they get it on in and outside of the prison. Meanwhile, while the prisoner is somewhat frightened of the guard, the guard grows increasingly obsessed with her, killing those who try to get in their way.

The dogs still bark their asses off at night, and I’m like, just what are they barking so wildly at anyway? Is it the nocturnal wildlife scurrying about that stirs them up? Or are they just that cold, lonely and neglected?

Piggy may turn out to be an okay rat after all. He let me pick him up last night and all 3 of them were out, though briefly.

I still worry just how much worse things will get before they temporarily improve. With the way God loves to see me stuck in places I don’t want to be, I still fear we’ll end up in some shitbox with neighbors just 50’ away. It’s better than 3’, but much worse than 450’. My vibes pertaining to moving/staying are totally screwed up. As I said before, it seems logical that we’re going to lose the house. We still want to move, it’s just that we’d prefer to do it on our own terms. Instead, whenever I moved as an adult as well as with him, we were pretty much forced to do so. Yes, we wanted out of the Phoenix house, but we were also running at the same time. Anyway, if the evil that we just can’t seem to shake free of doesn’t drive us out of here, then it sure is obvious that it likes to at least tease us with this place and make us think we’re going to lose it.

Nothing compares to the stress I was going through at this time last year. This is nothing compared to knowing I would soon have to face the utter humiliation and degradation of pissing in front of someone.

At 127 pounds, it’s too soon to get my hopes up, but the answer to why I wasn’t losing weight may have been right under my nose all this time. It’s starting to seem like I wasn’t working my heart hard enough or long enough, along with the fact that I wasn’t getting enough fiber. Now begins the real test. If I can get down to 125, then I should be able to get pretty much anywhere. Maybe not the 100 pounds I’d like to be, but perhaps to 110-115. I don’t know, though. I’m still 38 years old, not 20-something, and it’s not in my nature to be thin. If I don’t lose weight, then I guess something up there just doesn’t want me to. On the other hand, I know that losing weight only means asking for a new problem, and so I ask myself, do I really want to trade in my weight problem for a new problem that could be worse?

I’m still pissed that Marge ignored my birthday and at a time we’re so desperate for money. That was cold, really fucking cold.