So Tom says paying the rent isn’t the dire crisis I think it is. Yeah, I know. And we’re still supposed to get rich, right? Right? Isn’t that why the horses lost yesterday? Okay, so we only put a few bucks into the account to begin with, but a loss is a loss, isn’t it? And what an amazing coincidence that what passes with flying colors in testing suddenly fails us when it’s used for real. This convinces me all the more that we’re not meant to have money. I don’t know why God would want us to struggle on and to suffer in any way, but I guess He must have his reasons. Whatever the reason is, I don’t know that I want to live to pay next month’s rent in the first place. This is no longer just about what’s going on now, but about our inevitably bleak future as well. I don’t want to struggle for another 30-40 years. I don’t want to rent other people’s old dumps all our lives. So what if we can pay the rent this month? It’d still be just a matter of time before we couldn’t. Like I’ve said before, it’s only the bad places I can’t get out of. We’re going to run out of money at some point because this place is quiet overall. Jesse’s dogs and engines may annoy me at times, but compared to other places I’ve lived in, it’s dead quiet here, so why would I be allowed to live in peace for any real length of time? That’s why we lost the Maricopa house, too. Despite the stress the blacks and their corrupt pig pal put on us, it was fairly quiet there and I loved that house, which was ours. Peace is just as much of a no-no for me as money is, so I’m not the least bit surprised at what’s going on here. I knew when they laid him off that it was the beginning of the end and not some road to a better life.

No, I’m not going to ask my folks for help either. Maybe if they were younger and had more money I would, but they can’t be around to save us forever, and they have their own shit to deal with. I know that if we killed ourselves they’d be hurt and maybe even angry for a while, but I would think deep down that they’d understand as best they could for someone who has no concept of what it’s like to be poor.

I exercised out of habit, but I’m not sure I can work on my story. It’s hard to bring myself to work on something I may not be around to finish, but I guess I will simply because I don’t have much else to do other than wait for the inevitable to play itself out.

Later…

I haven’t wanted to drop dead this badly in a long time. I’d still be scared, but not like in the motel. The sicker I get of living and the more our chance for security slips away, the more ready I feel. Sure I’d miss certain things like my hobbies, but I’ve listened to enough music in my life, I’ve sung enough songs, collected enough dolls, watched enough movies and written enough stories. But what I’m sick of doesn’t even come close to comparing to what I’d miss. I’m sick of struggling, I’m sick of the barking every single fucking place we live. I’m sick of the simplest of things in life being totally out of reach simply because it’s me who wants them. I’m sick of living in old beat-up dumps with doors that don’t close right or that don’t stay open as is the case with the bedroom door here. I’m sick of the fact that nothing excites me anymore. Nothing has seemed new and exciting for a while now. Not sex, not new clothes, not traveling… nothing. Instead, the only thing that seems to excite me is the thought of escaping life’s bullshit. To have no more teeth pain, no more periods, no more struggling to keep weight off. My eyes would never have to get any worse, not that I could ever afford an optometrist any more than a dentist. I’d never get any older or any grayer. I’d never have to deal with menopause. I’d never have to spend another minute wondering who will take care of us when we get too old to care for ourselves. I’d never have to be inconvenienced again by a sleep disorder. My ear would no longer be a problem, and of course, I wouldn’t have to deal with it should the lump in my breast be cancerous as much as I doubt it is since I doubt I’d ever have insurance before I was 65. There’d be no more pawning and selling things just to never get ahead. No more worrying about losing the roof over our heads. No more having to do without simple everyday luxuries like a full-size washer that’s always hooked up or a dishwasher. No more being so cramped in you can only walk around one side of the bed and part of the foot. No more living on someone else’s stained carpet, since we could never have our own again.

Not even winning a grand would be exciting at this point. It would only be a temporary fix. Our security would only be on the line once again as soon as the money ran out, and we certainly wouldn’t have our dream house either. The only way to “security” would be to kill someone and be sure to get caught for it. That’d be sure to keep us off the streets! Ain’t life just grand?

Do I wish I could suddenly snap my fingers and have my dream of owning a modest house where we don’t have to hear other people’s dogs be gone? No, as I don’t see the point in that. It would only be replaced with some other impossible dream. As I said, the dream doesn’t have to be anything far-fetched. It only has to be mine. Being mine automatically disqualifies it from becoming possible.

If the house we had in Phoenix had been a little nicer and we’d had normal, civilized neighbors, we’d still be there today, and the house would be all paid for. But God wanted us to suffer instead.

Tom pointed out that things might’ve been worse had we remained in Phoenix, and that a zillion different other things could’ve gone wrong. This is true. A meteorite could’ve smashed through the roof. I could’ve had a child rather than a miscarriage. We could’ve become seriously ill or injured. But the odds of these uncool things happening wouldn’t have been likely. We’ll never know, though, what would have happened. I only know what did happen and that something up there definitely does NOT have our best interest at heart and is NOT guiding us to the better life we had so hoped for here. Since we left Phoenix, and since we lost the Maricopa house, maybe we should’ve stayed in Oregon. It’d be cold, snowy, noisy, and I wouldn’t have insurance till I was 65, but at least the rent would be half of what it is here. Even if they laid him off, I don’t see how we’d be at risk of ending up on the streets.

Boy, was I wrong about God! Who the hell was I kidding in thinking I had a friend in Him? And how could I have been so damn naive to think that if I just prayed and did all the necessary steps I possibly could towards achieving our goals and dreams, we would eventually succeed? Well, guess what? There is no home for us. Not in this life.

Today I’m not going to bother doing much of anything. No sweeping, no cleaning, no nothing. I’ll just write and listen to music here and there. Hey, if we’re going to have to live like bums I might as well act like one for once and just be totally lazy.

Right now the dogs are going crazy and I’ve had enough! We can’t kill them because Jesse has no set schedule, yet I’d like a shot at getting some peace during the last couple weeks of my life, and so as soon as that cock roars back on its motorcycle, I intend to call up there and see if I can get him to at least move the damn things if he’s not going to take them inside. I’d rather him tell us he’s not going to do shit about them than to have never tried anything at all.