I’d write more often, but usually I’m just too damn tired to do it. But today was one of those rare times where I got caught up on my sleep despite the many wake-up calls along the way, so I can write now.

Last night I got so fed up with this never-ending noise curse and our wonderful God who cares so much about me and what happens to me that I finally did a spell to back the shit off, and it’s helped a lot over the last 24 hours, but I still hear shit every so often. Not just the usual door-slamming and footsteps stomping, but people seem to love to shout outside our door as well. They also love to blast in and out of the parking lot. I don’t understand why motels and hotels don’t have policies about loud music in parking lots, but once again, people just don’t care.

I got so pissed off at the bastard in the sky that at one point I said, “Fine, go ahead. Sic all the noise you want on me if that’s all I fucking deserve!” Sure enough, it got noisier. That’s when I realized that yes He will grant my prayers. That is, only if I’m willing to pray for what I don’t want.

I’m trying my best to adapt and accept the fact that Tom’s going to have to suffer with a shitty-paying job he doesn’t like, and I can’t live in a house. The more I can hone my influencing skills, the better. Not that I can influence others to give a damn about those around them, but I’m hoping I can learn to tune their shit out because when little Johnny bounces his ball against the dividing wall of the apartment, his mother isn’t going to stop him and tell him that’s rude because she’ll have no concept of the meaning of the word herself.

Anyway, Tom’s put in for jobs he wants so far, but I think he’s starting to realize that that’s just not real life. No one gets what they want or likes their job, so he’s going to put in for tons of jobs he doesn’t want. He’s sure to get one that way!

I’m glad we’re in California and that I won’t have to deal with the cold and the snow because everything else is going to suck. It’s like I’m just sitting here, listening to people’s shit around me, knowing I’m destined to play out this part in a script that’s been written for me and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. It’s no fun knowing the inevitable is going to happen and that it’s not going to be what we want. But Tom’s going to get that low-paying job on days, and we’re going to live in an apartment. Period.