I forgot to mention getting a Bob letter a few days ago. His lungs are pretty bad, he says. A nurse told him that if he weren’t an inmate he could have a lung transplant. Yeah, I believe it. I’d hate to have a baby in custody. I mean, I can’t believe they’d give you anything for the pain, and I doubt they prep you first like they’re supposed to. They’re supposed to shave your pubic hair and then numb/cut your pussy to make it wider. In custody, though, I’m sure they just let the baby rip on through without giving a damn how badly it tears the woman or how many stitches she’d end up needing on account of it if they cared enough to let her have the stitches in the first place.

There’s this site that lets you play games for money. When you first sign up they give you $6 to play with for practice. I played Mahjong for fun, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to play for real money. It’s like with the lottery; the odds of winning are too low. Tom may put a little money in next month, though. He’s better at some of the card games than I am at Mahjong.

I decided not to worry about my schedule right now. Since I am able to sleep during the daytime here, I figure there’s no need to get all immune to Melatonin till I absolutely need to stay on schedule which shouldn’t be till we get close to moving. Besides, the less I use, the less often I have to buy more, and the more we save.

Later…

Tom got home with some pretty bad news (what else is new). He has to start looking for a new job like yesterday because insurance at work for us both would be $500 a month! That’s insane! The problem is that Oregon requires its employees to take insurance if their employers offer it, but hell, we could practically buy it ourselves at that price. So this is how it’s going to be? He’s going to float from one minimum wage job after another until he retires? Then we’ll struggle off the remaining years of our lives? Thanks, God, thanks a fucking lot!

On the flip side, Tom just told me that between his AMEX pension and social security, we’re eligible for twice as much as we’re making now once he retires. Then he ought to hurry up and turn 65, I told him.

Still, a part of me hopes I won’t have to kill myself because all these years of missed exams will fail to serve as an early detection of some deadly disease that’ll kill me instead, but I know that’s not in my cards. If I truly do live to be old, I’ll probably be very healthy till the last 5-10 years.

Why can’t we have the simplest of things in life? Just the simplest of things? Just a secure job that pays the bills, a reasonable, affordable insurance plan, and a house no one can spite us out of?