Someone asked me what are the 3 things I’m best at these days and how well I do them.

Singing, writing, and languages are what I’m best at and I’m usually about an 8 on a scale of 1-10. Of course, trying to sing on just a few hours of sleep will pull me down to a 7 or so.

As far as Arizona laws favoring minorities; that’s why most of the inmates in jail were white, yet the nationwide statistics I’ve read say minorities make up for 80% of the crime and inmates. Well, they may make up for most of the crime in Arizona, but not the inmates! Take a white man and a black man and convict them of the same charges, and the white man will almost certainly go down harder than the black man. And if a white person is defending themselves against a white attacker, they call it what it is – self-defense. If a white person defends themselves against a black attacker, however, it’s automatically called a hate crime. So God, if you’re ever going to be mean enough to let someone attack me, please, please let them be as white as I am!!! I know you’ll still protect them from punishment, but this way I won’t be charged and labeled with all kinds of things I am not and made to suffer any more than they themselves made me suffer.

Marie’s feedback response put a smile on my face. I was grinning by the time I got to what she would do to those who’ve burned me if she could. Oh, I know she would take care of them, alright, LOL!

In a sense, I’m helping her keep writing regularly since that’s mostly how we’re communicating right now – by responding to entries. And I know she still loves to hear from me, LOL!

No, I’m definitely no people person like she is, as she pointed out, and yes, she makes a great clown. She has a great sense of humor when she’s not ready to kill.

It was sweet of her to let me know she’d be by my side if I was alone, and I believe it. And that we’d have a couple of kids by now had we been together, though I never wanted more than one, LOL. Don’t get me wrong – Tom would have stuck around and been a great dad had I gotten pregnant. It’s not like he never ever came, and remember, I did have an early-on miscarriage once. What had me so depressed wasn’t that I didn’t have kids in the end. I’m glad we didn’t. We can barely take care of ourselves, so I’m sure one can imagine how much tougher it would’ve been with kids. I wanted to go on living and to be able to do some of the things I’ve done. So the fact that I’m childless today isn’t the issue. The issue is that before Tom came and before I had the miscarriage and some initial testing (where they insert dye into the fallopian tubes) that said I was ok, I was A, convinced I was sterile, and B, unable to coax Tom into seeing a doctor. I believe that A, he was just too shy and embarrassed to deal with it, and B, he didn’t want a kid as bad as I once did to make it worth conquering his shyness. I think some people are just too nice to say “no” and that “no” is hard for some people to say to the one they love, though he did try in his own way just in some of the hints he dropped. The signs were always there saying he wasn’t as into the idea as I was, but I was too blind to see them. Or maybe I did see them and just didn’t want to accept them. But in the end, I loved my husband a lot more than I wanted a kid.

As I also told her, quitting medication is like quitting smoking, drinking or losing weight. Tom read an article on a study that says 21 is the magic number. In other words, if you can get through the first 21 days of any major change, you should have it made. It took me more like 120 days with the smoking, but I did it. And if I can do it, she can do it, but only she can know when she’s ready. No one can make her do anything she doesn’t want to (unless she’s in jails or funny farms), but yes, it will be hard at first if she quit the meds. I was a basket case at first, too.

Marie was right in saying that anger and rage are soul destroyers. I know the feeling! A lot of people see me as mature, confident, stable and jovial, but don’t be fooled. While I may still be all of these good things, I also seethe with rage at times when I think of those who have abused and victimized me in various ways. Sometimes I wish to hell they would magically appear before my eyes so I could do things to them best left to the imagination. I’m not kidding when I say I just might lose it on someone if history repeats itself with the freeloaders in Arizona. I’m much more fragile and explosive than some may think. God sure as hell ain’t gonna take care of any potential perps out there, so it would have to be up to me.

So I told her it’s okay to be angry at those who’ve hurt her. But it’s NOT okay to take it out on innocent people. That’d be like me chewing out someone minding their business in a store or someplace like that simply because Joely of Arizona had me jailed for being a white, Jewish complainer of her noise and vandalism. And it’s ok to tell me – in a civilized manner – if something I write upsets her.

As for Tom’s libido and my own (which she says she hopes he gets back), it’s a common case of long-term partners. Most people would never admit it, but this happens to everyone. My 78 and 79-year-old folks love the hell outa each other. They’d die for each other. But do you really think they’re getting it on? I’m sure they can’t even remember what it’s like to get it on! So while Tom and I are emotionally attracted to each other, there’s no way we’d ever be sexually attracted to each other again, because it’s like playing the same song over and over. Eventually, it loses its newness and excitement. Tom has always had a bit of a low appetite anyway. So even if we were both suddenly horny as hell, I can’t imagine us wanting to have sex with each other simply because we’re not attracted to each other in that way after all this time.

Yesterday I hit writer’s block on chapter 12. I am now more than a third of the way through the story, but not quite halfway through it yet.

Later…

The Klammers are back to being their usual colder-than-New-England selves by getting down to 24º tonight, LOL.

I forgot to write about the rather unpleasant dream I had last night. Tom and I were not only living in an apartment complex of some kind, but it was in a scummy, dangerous area. When I went to get our mail in this lobby-like entryway, which consisted of two regular envelopes and a package from my parents, everything was empty. The neighborhood junkies had removed the contents entirely from both the envelopes and the package.

The good news is that Tom’s been making incredibly good money at the job site lately on a particular job for which I don’t qualify since I didn’t do as many of the initial jobs as he did due to not always being on days. Hey, I always did say God gave me this sleep schedule disorder to hold me back in life! rolls eyes sarcastically The good news is that it provides a hell of an extra cushion for us. The bad is that it’s not quite enough to live on in case they stop the checks before the jobs return, and there are no guarantees they’ll be there indefinitely to begin with. And the more workers they get (and they’re bound to get more with time), the fewer jobs there’ll be for him. Guess we gotta just enjoy it while it lasts, cuz all good things do come to an end.

Later…

HITs are what they refer to jobs as on the site I work at. Well, being the occasional airhead that I am I went and botched up a dollar HIT. It’s a good thing it was only a buck and that I made enough on other HITs. I was supposed to recommend a news article and who would be interested in it. I randomly grabbed an article on terrorism, copied in the URL, then was supposed to recommend it to the general public. Instead, I recommended it to those who are interested in R&B music. Argh! So it got rejected. Yeah, I know, hahahaha, it’s pretty funny. :)