Tom’s giving plasma now. Hopefully anyway. They won’t take him if they see leftover bruising from the last draw, and he’s been having trouble getting his arms to clear completely. He’s been gone a while now, so I’m guessing they took him.

I’m trying to make a point of getting 10 minutes of sunlight every day that I’m available during daylight hours. I didn’t get up until 8 this morning, so by the time I was fully awake nearly two hours later, I went out and it was beautiful. The sun still hurts my eyes at times and I guess it’s because I spend so much time indoors. That’s part of why I’m making a point of getting out there when I can. I’m definitely going to add two vitamin Ds a week rather than three because I can tell my TSH is rising. My energy levels are still better, but I definitely want to keep out of those double digits.

Spectrum was next door again yesterday and Ray still hasn’t gone back to blasting the TV. Who knows if that’ll change when I’m staying up in the evening when sound travels better and he’s more likely to open a window? Maybe he was busy doing something else in another room at that time but still wanted to hear whatever was playing so he cranked it up. We have the same house model and his TV is in the same place ours is which means the only way you can see it is if you’re actually in the living room. Hopefully, it won’t override the MLV or be noticeable in other rooms to the point where I need to talk to him. You just never know how people may react, but I do know my temper. I still shouldn’t have to listen to anyone else’s TV, music, or anything in my home just like they shouldn’t have to hear any of my shit in theirs.

Still sorting drawers and cabinets in the kitchen and closet and making progress. The negative to a small place is that while it may be good for the electric bill, it’s not good for finding things because you have to have so much stuff packed in tightly. In a bigger house, there’s room to spread it out, although I still forget where things are a lot because my short-term memory is going to hell. Nonetheless, I’m doing my best to organize things.

I have all things painting gathered in a large, clear plastic bin but there are other hobby-related items to organize as well, like diamond painting and drawing. I now have the latch-hook rug and cross-stitching stuff as well, though I don’t see myself taking the cross-stitching too seriously. As for the latch-hooking, I don’t know yet.

I’ve been toying with the idea of dedicating a Facebook profile that wouldn’t be in my real name to journals and other things. I already have an account that I’m slowly adding old journals to and the reason the idea kind of appeals to me is that while I wouldn’t be able to see my visitors there, I could easily share pictures and even my tweets there. On the other blogging sites, this is a real pain in the ass and I have space limits on me as well. I wouldn’t give up the blogging sites, though. I’d just share the link to it. I decided it’s okay to share links that don’t involve my main Facebook account. I’m very picky about who I add on my main account. I prefer to keep that for people I’ve actually met or cyber friends that go way back in time. I mean pre-Citrus Heights time.

I still long for a friend like Aly but I realized this is never gonna happen. There will never be another Aly again. It still would have been nice if there could have been someone with similar traits. Tinkerbella isn’t Tinkerbell, but she’s similar. She’s smart, playful, loving, and affectionate.

Understandably, we all want some attraction to those we’re intimate with but whenever it comes to friends, I’ve never given a shit what they look like. I would value a 300-pound blimp full of acne who was honest, real, intelligent, and accepting over a gorgeous person who lied and was judgmental. Honesty and intelligence are what I value most on top of acceptance. They don’t have to be a rocket scientist because no one knows it all. It’s just that smarter people tend to be more reasonable.

Only stupid people like Andy would think I could possibly have some reason to lie about my sleep disorder, for example. What compounded his stupidity was that he should have known better after knowing me all my life. It wasn’t just me, though. He thinks everybody is lying about everything. But smarter people are usually smart enough to be able to tell these kinds of things and also able to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, even if they’ve never been in those shoes themselves. They just seem to be better at being able to rationalize and understand things even if they’ve never experienced them. So Aly was smart enough to realize A, there couldn’t be any good reason why someone would make up something so bizarre to begin with, and B, no one would want to live with such a thing. It didn’t take her God knows how much time to finally “hit her like a bell in the night” that no one wants to get up at 3 in the morning.

Actually, it’s getting up around 6 in the evening I hate most because while I may get more peace that way, by the time the sun is up and stores are open, I’m getting tired.

I like smart people. They’re observant, they catch on quicker, they tend to retain what they learn, and are just more open and accepting in general. I would love to have a special friend like that where we share what’s going on in each other’s lives nearly every day and have some interests in common, especially writing. But I just don’t see it being meant to be. I wasn’t kidding when I said that Aly losing her life wasn’t just a punishment for her, but for those who cared about her as well. There’s been an empty void in my life but you can’t make people be what they aren’t or hunt for a specific person and expect them to want a relationship or friendship and like the same things you do in the way you can hunt for a specific item of clothing. There’s just no ordering up a second Aly-like friend. I’ve found that most things that happen aren’t planned. If she’s out there (a he would be fine, although I still prefer a she) I haven’t met her yet and if I have I don’t know it.

I made a promise to myself that if I ever meet this special friend, as long as she’s honest, not overly emotional/dramatic, doesn’t use me as Mary did, and isn’t hurting anyone, I’ll never judge her and will be a good listener when she wants while also giving her space when she wants. If she wants me to keep her out of my journal, I will do that as well. People seem to be all over the place as far as that’s concerned. Some don’t care if you write that they’re crazy mass murderers, others only want you to write good things, and some don’t want you to even mention the most mundane of things.

Unfortunately, Aly was a little less open with her life than I was but one of the things I really liked - for reasons I can’t understand – was that she really came to know me well through our talks and my journals, and she really got me too. I really liked her curiosity and how she cared enough to pay attention and learn things about both my past and present.

It really does seem like so much of life is unplanned. I never planned Tom, but even though I have been attracted to more women than men, his award-winning personality drew me in like a drug. Not that he was ever ugly or just there in the looks department. He’s always had nice eyes. The face is what I notice most. I’d rather a nice face on a less-than-perfect body than a perfect body with a boring or ugly face.

Here we go again with the barking. What happened to being able to go weeks at a time without hearing the fucking thing? It’s been a daily occurrence again. Still better to have a few bursts of that that only last a minute or less than TVs that go on for hours, but still. I guess I’m just a real peace junkie.

A dog I’ve never heard before was making this horrible squeaking sound the other day and the honker’s mutt was howling. I feel bad for the poor thing because he’s been out more and more and therefore it’s got to be lonely. Before, when he went out with his girlfriend, the other dog was still with it. So the thing is spending an awful lot of time alone.

In real life, Nane never had kids. She got pregnant at 39, lost the baby, and didn’t want to try again. But in the dream I had last night, I was thinking that her son was 8 years old when we last talked and would now be 12.

Then I had a nightmare that woke me up for a few minutes. A guy kidnapped me and was trying to pin me down on his bed. I was able to punch him hard enough in the head to knock him out. Then I wasted precious time trying to decide if I should carry on with the attack to ensure I got away or if I should just run.

I made the wrong decision and chose to run. I sprung up off of the bed, out of the bedroom, and down a flight of stairs, hoping to hell the door was unlocked at the bottom because he was already up and chasing me. I was able to get out the door and into the dark of night. I seemed to have run from a building that had a row of apartments in a secluded foresty area. The nightmare ended with me screaming and pounding on doors, hoping someone would be up and able to help me as the maniac closed in on me.