I still have a lot to write about concerning my latest misfortune, so I’ll get on with it, but before I do, here are some other tidbits of things going on.

I saw Carol on Hollywood Squares. She looked so-so.

The red pickup went by, but there were no Mexicans in the back of it. I thought I heard music coming from it, but I’m not sure. I’ve seen it go by quietly once or twice since I first mentioned it.

That 10” doll Marissa that I tried to get online is now in the Ashton-Drake catalog for the same price as Sacajawea and Pine Leaf – $125. I hope to get her someday.

Last night the dishwasher lost its mind and wouldn’t work cuz all the lights lit up randomly whenever I’d hit start, and I was like – thanks, God. Thanks for having the dishwasher break. You couldn’t have picked a better time. But Tom, my hero and genius, fixed it by unplugging it. I never would’ve thought to do that.

Anyway, I was made to take a shower while the guard left to do whatever, and was fucking freezing when I got out and dressed in my uniform! The guard was out in the hall when I stepped into it and she took me to get my picture taken and to be printed. They do that every time someone comes in, she told me. She did my prints on the computer and only inked my right thumb.

It was just before midnight when I was finally put in a holding cell with 3 other sleeping girls. I was amazed that they could sleep! The windowless room had one built-in bench with two women on it, and another woman lying on the floor by them. There was a toilet and sink with a 3’ wall in front of it and at the side of it. I lay down just outside the little toilet cubicle. There was no room for me anywhere else, anyway. I lay there staring up at the bright fluorescent lights and listening to the loud drone of the TV that was just one big echo. Because there was no carpeting anywhere, the sound bounced off the concrete walls and floor and you couldn’t make out any words coming from the obnoxiously loud thing that was obviously blaring to annoy the inmates and drown out anyone calling to the guards. It was the most uncomfortable night of my life laying there on that cold, hard concrete, wrapped in this itchy, woolly blanket, shivering my ass off! I swear they mean to freeze their guests! The AC ran continuously and it had to have gotten way down in the 60s in that little cell which was about 6x15. I struggled all night to find a comfortable position, but whether or not I lay on my side, back or belly, I was so uncomfortable!

I remember thinking – thank God I don’t smoke cuz I’d be dying for a cigarette!

At one point, one of the women awoke to pee right after I did. She was a tall, skinny woman in her late 30s who was in for beating her husband. Why she was in for beating him when she was the one with all the bruises, was beyond my comprehension. She was nice, although I could sense she had the potential to be capable of some pretty serious mood swings. I just knew there was an underlying tendency there. Again, although she was nice and gave me some of her soggy bologna and cheese sandwich, I wouldn’t want to be buddies with her.

Shortly after we began gabbing, the plump 21-year-old on the floor woke up and was very friendly. She gave me her bag of chips, although I couldn’t eat very many. We also very happily swapped blankets. She wanted mine cuz it was more solid, and although hers was rather holy, it was cotton instead of wool and much softer. Either way, I knew I’d be freezing. I’d have to have had a sweatshirt on and be wrapped in a comforter in order to have been warm in that place. Anyway, she was in for speeding and getting caught with pot in her car.

Eventually, the other one on the bench woke up. She was young and looked like a model and was in for theft. She said she went to court on the case two years ago, did all she was told to do about it and wasn’t sure why they were bringing it up now. Why are they bringing up the blacks and Mexicans to me now? It’s been over a year since the blacks moved and almost a year since we moved from the Mexicans.

So we gabbed like old friends having a slumber party for a while, till the door opened up at just after 4:00, and in came a black lady, but again, I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t nice. At this point, and to my utter amazement, I dozed off for a while, while the others went back to sleep and the off-brand stood standing by the door looking out the window. I couldn’t have slept for much more than an hour, and eventually, the off-brand wound up on the floor towards the back of the cell.

At around 6:00 we were awakened, and I was a bit crampy so the Mex guard who had about an hour left of her shift gave me something for it. Again, I was surprised that they’d give a damn enough to have Tylenol for their captives.

Around this time we were given forms to fill out. One of them was the same form R had me fill out. Another was about my financial status to determine whether or not I get a court-appointed lawyer. I said to myself, there’s no fucking way these blacks and Mexicans are going to cost us another dime and force me to spend hundreds if not thousands on them in court. I refuse to pay for a lawyer. If they won’t appoint me one, I’ll represent myself. However, here’s where the law surprisingly worked in my favor. I don’t work, and they can’t make Tom pay for a lawyer for me, I later found out, so I will be getting a court-appointed attorney. That is unless someone tells me differently and they’re the ones who turn out to be right.

About a half-hour, after they got us up we were brought out into the main room where I was first brought in to. I thought I was going to be brought to Phoenix at this time, but instead, the judge was behind the counter and each of us had to go up, turn in our forms and hear our charges for the twentieth time, then sign a paper with my court date which is for this Friday. Again, I tried to find out who was launching the complaint and all the snot said was that it was out of Maricopa County, which is Phoenix (Maricopa is Pinal County). I already knew that but who prompted Maricopa County to file the damn charges? I’m still pretty sure it’s just old news that fucking Tammy and Bill had to dredge up and rehash – freeloaders. Defendants have more rights than victims, I reminded myself (even though I’m the true victim), so maybe that’ll help, but who knows? Life is so unfair and the law is so fucked up that for all I know, I may end up in jail for 10 years. I asked Tom if he’d wait for me if that happened. He surprisingly said that of course he would. How sweet. I’d do the same for him too, although God knows how I’d survive and where I’d live while he was gone.

After seeing the judge, we were put back in the holding cell. At this point, I started to wonder if I’d be stuck there till Friday and if Tom thought I was in Phoenix.

We were only in the cell for about 20 minutes, when we were given a food sack. A brown paper bag with the same soggy sandwiches, chips, crackers, an orange, and milk. I ate none of it.

After another 20 minutes or so of sitting in there, the day staff took us upstairs. Boy, was I nervous upon going up there! Again, I just didn’t know what I was walking into! However, once again it was not like in the movies. No one threatened, let alone harmed me in any way, and I was shocked to see the guards chatting pleasantly with some of the inmates. There was a black woman guard and a Mexican woman guard. We entered a big room with about 6 round tables bolted to the floor. There were about 20-30 inmates there. There was the staff’s station and a lower and upper row of two-person cells.

I was assigned to a lower cell with a 6’, skinny white butchy looking girl named Joy who was a couple of years younger than me. I was shocked when she told me she had been married for 14 years and had 4 kids. Again, she was very friendly and even helpful. She gave me the numbers you have to dial first in order to place a collect call, although it was written on the phone. This saved me time, though.

She also told me I could help myself to the library books she picked out (she had my taste in books). I was shocked to learn that they come around with carts of books. I mean, I just didn’t think they’d care about supplying their prisoners with things to occupy their time.

A lot of the women hung out in the main room, but as Joy said, she preferred to sleep and read in the cell. That’s exactly what I would have done if I hadn’t had someone like Tom to rescue me and bond me out.

She showed me where the semi-private shower stall was and said inmates could shower anytime.

She was on the bottom bunk and said she’d take the top, which I was afraid of cuz it was so high if she didn’t have dizzy spells like she said she did. I asked the guard when she came in to give Joy a broom to sweep the cell with if there were any lower bunks available cuz I was afraid of heights. She said there wasn’t, but that I could take the mattress and lay it on the floor, so I did. Well, Joy did. It was a little high up for me to pull down at my height.

The cell was about 6x8 feet and had bunk beds, a metal table, a metal chair extending from the wall like shelves, a little sink above a toilet just like in the holding cells, and a shelf. Also, just like in the holding cell, there was an aluminum mirror bolted to the wall. Because of my eye for detail and excellent memory, I can remember a lot.

When I first got upstairs, the phones weren’t on yet. Meaning that they were dangling by their cords. Prisoners can only make calls during certain hours. Believe it or not, I dozed off for a few minutes on the mattress on the floor while I was waiting for the phones to be in use. It was much more comfortable than concrete but not nearly as comfortable as an airbed with a foam pad!

Also, when I first went up there, I had to shit so bad, yet had such a hard time doing it like I did when I first came in having to pee, cuz my nerves were all jangled up. Nerves really mangle up my stomach. Joy was kind enough to turn her back towards me so I could squeeze out my runny shit in some privacy.

Joy wanted me to see if Tom and I could spring her bond of $200 (she was in for writing bad checks) and in exchange, she’d let us buy her new Chevy Blazer for $1000, saying she and her husband had two other cars. She said she’d give us the title that day and that we could make payments at our leisure. I said I’d try, but I knew better than to get involved or trust her that much. She was pleasant enough to deal with in jail, but again, not my type to do business or friendship with.

I never followed through on Sandra’s request, either. She’s the older, potentially nutty woman who sort of reminded me of Ellie whom I was in the holding cell with. She was assigned to a cell a couple of doors down from me. Out in the main room, she gave me numbers to see if I could call her family to get them to bond her out. It’s not that I didn’t care or feel sorry for her, knowing how uncomfortable jail is, but I just didn’t want to get involved. I had my own problems to deal with.

Unless they decide to lock you down, or it’s nighttime, you can come and go from your cell as you please. You just flash the light switch in your cell so the guard can hit your door release from the station, and then you give a yell when you want back in your cell (you can’t open the cell doors from inside or outside).

As soon as I saw the phones were hung up and available for use, I called here at the house. Tom answered, but he was in Florence. He had forwarded the calls to the cell phone. He said he was taking care of the bond and that I’d be out in about an hour. It was a little hard to hear him with the echo of the women’s chatter in the background. I was amazed I could even doze off through it, but it was like one big continuous noise, sort of like a fan’s motor. In fact, as exhausted as I was, I had to shake myself awake enough to make the call, cuz at this time, I still wasn’t sure if Tom even knew where I was, but he later told me he was up all night keeping track of where I was.

No one bothered me while I was on the phone. Only one pleasant-looking inmate spoke to me after I made my call, suggesting I put my shoes on since I was walking barefoot on a gross county floor. I had stumbled out barefoot, so damn tired. I went back and got my sandals, anyway. I was surprised to see this woman wearing a beaded cross necklace. Since when are you allowed to wear jewelry in jail?

I had hoped to finish this sorry story before court tomorrow, but I’m just too beat. I’m gonna shower, read, finish the rest of a movie I taped, then hope to get some decent sleep before having to leave tomorrow morning between 7:30 and 8:00. For now I’ll just say there’s a chance I could get rearrested tomorrow upon going to court, but Tom said that he’d bail me out. Well, that’s really nice of him, but if I wished someone would kill Bill and all the freeloaders before, I really wish it now, those mother-fucking assholes!!!!! They’ve really made my life a living hell. Please, God, let what goes around come around!!! Please, please, be fair for once!!! Let justice finally be served and get these losers off my back and out of my life for good!!!!!!

I was thinking the other day about how I needed more things to write about in my journal, that not enough was happening to write about, and life was dull and boring a lot lately. I’d find myself wanting to write when there was simply nothing to write about. Well, rest assured – I have plenty to write about now. And as is usually the case when I have a lot to write, it’s not good news. Not at all. Let’s just say that the freeloaders are still living a few feet away from us. They may as well be. They’re very much a part of my life like they were in Phoenix. I’m never going to be free of these sick fucks – never! If I had a gun I’d be off to shoot every one of them dead because I know that I’m always going to be a victim of these shitfucks no matter where we go or what we do. Always with me, always with them. That’s how I said it was in Phoenix, and believe me, it’s still that way in Maricopa. I just can’t hear their music or non-stop yelling anymore. They may not trash our yard anymore either, but these animals are always going to control and even own me, for that matter. When is it ever going to be over with these people? When are they ever going to be in my past and out of my life for good? Never? Probably. First they stole my peace and now they’re stealing my time, freedom and money! These people are always going to be a part of my life and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it! There’s no defending myself. They can have the city give them a free house to turn into a drug house and they can make my life a living hell at my own expense, yet there’s nothing I can do to them or to at least get them off my ass and out of my life! What the fuck is this world coming to when people can rule the lives of innocent people that never did a damn thing to them other than politely ask them to turn their music down, then yell at them about it and threaten to have them evicted cuz they just wouldn’t shut up and leave them alone? I never told them I was going to kill them or anything like that. The closest I ever came to threatening them was to say that I wished someone would kill them and do us and society a favor.

Let me start at the beginning, although none of us are certain at this point exactly what’s going on. I may not write the whole story in one sitting. This is not a pleasant experience/subject to write about and there’s a ton of shit to say, so I may do it in spurts.

The freeloaders are trying to frame me and to just “get me,” so to speak, and it all may have started with Tammy. There’s a good chance that if it wasn’t for my dear old sister, I never would’ve gone through what I went through and am still going through. Here’s what happened from beginning to end, although the end has yet to come and I doubt it will any time soon.

Tom was watching TV and I was at the computer when there was a knock on the front door. As I went to the door, I could see a cruiser out front, so I doubled back towards the den and told Tom, I didn’t do anything, don’t tell them I’m here. Sure enough, though, I could hear the cop ask for me when Tom opened the door. Tom asked what was up, but the cop wouldn’t say anything. He just insisted he talk to me and that’s when Tom came and got me and said I had to come out. So I did, cuz I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to stay in the house and appear uncooperative. A uniformed Mexican cop was with a white plainclothes detective. One cop car this time. Not half a dozen.

The first thing he asks me, besides to see my ID, was if I knew Tammy and had written to her. I was stunned to hear Tammy’s name. When I first saw the cruiser, my first thought was that it had to do with Larry, Ronnie, Bill, Jenny, or the freeloaders were saying I did something I didn’t do. The cop said Tammy was complaining about my writing threatening letters and the reason I was shocked was that I never wrote one threatening word to her. To Bill and the others I did, but I didn’t think she’d complain on behalf of them. Why would she care what happened to these people? The only reason I can think of as to why she’s doing this is that it’s out of spite because I wouldn’t resume a relationship with her or give her our number or address, although I’m still sure that somehow, somewhere, she knows it. I’m sure everyone I ever knew in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Florida knows all about the ordeal I went through and am going to be going through for God knows how many years. Anyway, I was very shocked to hear him mention Tammy, cuz even if I did write Tammy a threatening letter which I never had any desire or reason to do so, she’s not the type to call the cops on me. I’ve done worse things than ignore her in the past yet she never called the cops on me before. She never called them when we’d get into our screaming matches over the phone like we would when I was in my 20s.

Once again, when it comes to letters, it’s my constitutional right to write whatever the hell I damn so please, be it threatening, racist, or whatever. It’s called freedom of speech, and until and if I acted on a threat, no one can prove me guilty of anything and I don’t care what our fucked up laws say. I did not do anything wrong as far as I’m concerned. Not to the people back east, not to the blacks, not to the Mexicans. A woman, whom I’ll get into in a little bit, told me a guy had been terrorizing this neighborhood for 20 years. Then one day the bully told this guy he was gonna do his wife and daughter and the guy shot him for it. Although he had to go through the legal bullshit, he was acquitted cuz it was judged that any normal person would react the way he did if they were in his situation. So, to say someone’s an asshole, or to say racial slurs, is freedom of speech. And to say I’d like to slit the throat of my niece’s abuser, is a perfectly natural statement for any aunt to make, although I don’t believe those were my exact words. Mostly what I said was that if I had been there when he was beating the shit out of Lisa, I’d have kicked the shit out of him for it. Who wouldn’t say something like that? So, all in all, perhaps it was a stupid waste of time to throw the bottle into the carport when the blacks lived there, and yell at the Mexicans when they got noisy, and send pictures, tapes and letters to people who don’t give a damn and who will always be the way they are, but I did nothing wrong.

Anyway, I told the cop I wrote her a letter congratulating her on her marriage after not speaking to her for a while cuz we were so different. I didn’t get into how I told Tammy that although I felt we were just too different to resume regular contact by phone and mail, I still wished her the best in life. Trust me, though, anything with the last name O or G will never hear from me again by phone or mail. These people have never been anything but a source of negativity and problems for me anyway, and I’ve already forgotten about looking Lisa up when she’s on her own. Even if she did want to talk to me, I think it would be a very bad idea. It’ll just lead to problems for me and maybe problems for her as well, and we don’t need it. I only wanted to send the pictures to show off and I could kick myself for it. What a stupid waste of time! Like they give a shit? Like that changes anything that’s happened? Like that’ll change anything in the future? No, it won’t change the past or the future, cuz I knew the day I dumped these people that I’d never resume my old relationships with them after 32 years of lies, abuse and control, so I should never have bothered lowering myself to sending pictures to people who just don’t care and who have hurt me time and time again, year after year. Think about it, I said to myself, would you care if they sent you pictures of their houses and pets? No, I wouldn’t give a damn. Tom had said that it was nice of me to send Andy mail to let him know I was still alive but was it? No, it was a complete waste of time. He couldn't care less if I were alive. He’s not hurt that I dumped him, he’s pissed, and therefore, he couldn't care less about anything that’s going on in my life, and once again, I don’t hate Andy, but I don’t give a shit what’s going on his life or else I’d have kept in contact with him. And I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t care anymore what happens to Lisa. She, just like her parents, uncle and grandparents, is a closed chapter in my life.

How the fuck did Tammy get the cops out to talk to me about a letter, anyway? I couldn’t get the cop I called to talk to Larry about his harassment. The cop I spoke to didn’t want to help me cuz of how far away I was, and only after I pleaded with him did he say he’d call him, but I know he never did. I just can’t get away with shit, and even when I’m 100% innocent I still get in trouble. Before I know it, I’ll be arrested for some stranger’s murder in Alaska!

Back to what happened – the cop came, mentioned Tammy, asked for ID, then said they were waiting on confirming a warrant that was issued on June 27th. The warrant, though, has nothing to do with Tammy. Tammy’s call just prompted the cops to notice I had a warrant on me, but I’m not sure what the warrant’s for or what the charges are all about. I just don’t get it. Meanwhile, like Tom said, most people with warrants on them never get picked up and eventually the statute of limitations runs out on them. It figures I’d just have to get picked up on mine. Totally figures. I’m as cursed with the law as I am with sex and other things. Why the warrant went out in June, though, has me confused. No one’s leveling with us and telling us the whole story of what’s going on till we go to court, and even then I may not fully know. All I can guess is that the freeloaders accused me of being a gang member or a gang associate, but why this is coming out now, I’m still not sure. And all this over loud music? Fuck! These people are some seriously sick twists and I hope to hell that someone else kills them. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea. I’d get accused and go down for whoever killed them.

I know mail crimes are felonies, and later learned that threatening by itself is a misdemeanor while threatening by being associated with gangs or through the mail is a felony, which makes no sense to me, but when does are screwy system ever make sense? So, because the warrant was for a felony, I wasn’t just in and out of jail after talking about the case. I don’t know why we had to wait for the warrant to be confirmed, but anyway, while we were waiting, the detective was asking Tom about the well, the land, etc. When the warrant was confirmed, Officer R, the uniformed cop, said I was under arrest, and the normal way to do that is to handcuff people in back, but he was going to let me ride uncuffed. 

At that point I was like, I don’t believe this fucking shit! I never wrote threats to Tammy! When the guy told Tom the bond was set at just over 2 G’s, I nearly freaked. I’m not a lawyer, so I didn’t know that bond, which is the same thing as bail, is not quite what it seems. Yes, his mom could’ve paid the full 2 G’s to spring me out, and yes, we would’ve gotten that money back after court, but Tom said he’d rather pay the non-refundable fee of $266 to a bond company in order to get me out sooner. I didn’t know all you needed to pay was 10% of your bond. Why I had to go through all this when they could’ve just given me a court date makes no sense to me. I guess someone just had to make a buck off of me, and God and the state, county, whoever…felt they had to punish me by inconveniencing me and making me quite uncomfortable. Also, I guess that’s just what they do in felony cases, but with misdemeanors, they just give subpoenas.

So I got in the back of the cruiser and Tom was being very supportive, telling me not to worry and that he was gonna jump on the phone to make phone calls. See, I was under the impression that I was going to Florence, then to Phoenix in the morning, cuz the warrant was out of Phoenix, which told me it was freeloader-related and not about letters to anyone back east. A million things were going through my mind. Did the snobby Mr. Biased lie to me when he said it was over that day in January? Was there some kind of computer error? Did someone forget to put it into notation that it was resolved that day? Was I being mistaken for someone else? I later learned that Mr. Biased probably left the black/Mexican case as an open investigation and that Tammy and Bill’s complaints probably caused the case to be reactivated, because it had only been 6 months since Mr. Biased hauled me in, and the statute of limitations on it hadn’t run out yet. So in other words, just when I thought I was finally free of these blacks and Mexicans, I’m being dragged through the mud on account of these fucked up blacks and Mexicans after they harassed me, all because I spoke my mind about my niece to her abuser and sent my sister pictures. What a wonderful world we live in.

It was one thing when they hauled me in about the prank phone calls. It was clean-cut and simple; I knew what I was there for, I did it, I knew what was going on, etc. But when you haven’t got a clue as to what the fuck they mean when they say you’ve got two counts of intimidation and stalking, it’s really mind-boggling. Who the fuck am I supposed to have intimidated? And who the fuck could this homebody out in the middle of a 10-acre ranch in the middle of nowhere be stalking? I couldn’t stalk someone if I wanted to. How the fuck would I get around to doing it when I don’t drive? And like I’m really associated with gangs? Yeah, right! I’m associated with the president and with all the celebrities in Hollywood, too. The only thing I can think of as to what the hell these charges could mean is, well, they say two counts of each. Must be one for the blacks and one for the Mexicans. How they come up with stalking, I can only begin to guess. When I think of “stalking,” I think of following someone, but they may see the journal notes where I’d spy on them and log their activities as stalking. Who knows? I just want these fucking sick assholes out of my life for good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we take off and then Officer R, who’s driving, drops the detective off about half a mile away (we left the house by heading towards Meadow Green, opposite next door). Then we continued on to Maricopa’s substation across from Circle K. On the way in, we exchanged a little Spanish and talked a little about Tammy and the neighbors, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me much detail. All he said was my problems with the old neighbors weren’t resolved. I knew I should’ve gotten it in writing that it was resolved! And who knows if it’s written anywhere that it was resolved? If Mr. Biased hates whites, who knows? I shouldn’t have trusted him when he said it was resolved that day. There was something funny about him, and I’ve learned that cops can’t be trusted. Here I was, amazed that God let me get out of having to go to court for the blacks or the Mexicans when he never lets me get away with anything, yet what happens? Almost a year after we move, I’ve got to go to court cuz of these sick fucks. These sick fucks who instigated shit with me and who harassed and victimized me. They do what they did to me and yet I’m the one who has to go to jail and court! I just hope to hell that all’s fair in the afterlife if there is such a thing and that God will set them straight and give them what they deserve when their time comes, cuz it sure as shit ain’t happening in this life.

We were the only ones at the substation. I was taken into a room where he did some paperwork and had me fill out a questionnaire form saying where I’d go if I were released, where I worked, where my closest relatives are, what illness or health problems might I have, etc. He looked at my license and said I came out good. That was before I quit smoking and got fat, I told him, and he said it was good I at least quit smoking. At one point I asked if he could put in a good word for me, although I didn’t know if it’d do me any good, and he teased me about telling them I kicked and bit him. God, I hope he was just joking! You just never know what cops are gonna do or say.

I was amazed at how trusting he was. He let me go to the bathroom myself, although I was too tensed up to go, and left me alone in the room I was in a few times. Then, after we left there, he gassed up at Circle K, and left me alone to get us snacks! I wasn’t cuffed and these doors had inside handles in back, too. He said he was going to get chips and asked if I minded. I said no, then he asked if I had any money. Again I said no, and he asked if I wanted anything. I said I’d appreciate a Snickers and he got me one.

“I don’t usually get snacks for my prisoners,” he said.

I saw Jennifer, the one with the great body and ugly face, in the store while I was waiting. She does still work there, after all. Either that or she quit or was fired for a while. Or maybe I just kept missing her.

So once we got our snacks, he played the radio a bit and we headed for Florence, a very small, scummy town where all the prisons are. They have several complexes; for those who’ve been convicted, those on DUI charges or convictions, and the county jail, where I was taken to. He didn’t take me all the way, though. A white skinhead took me part of the way, and he too, was nice. In fact, I was amazed at how nice everyone was. I thought I was gonna be abused, or at least encounter some serious rudeness, from both staff and prisoners where I was going, but I didn’t. The only one who was rude and snobby, but that’s the way they’re supposed to be, was the judge. He was cold and abrupt and anxious to be done talking to me as quickly as possible.

Later...

I’m tight, congested, and my allergies are acting up a little. Ironically, my lungs and nose were fine in jail. I still think a big source of my problems is the animals. That and things outdoors.

What a fucking back-stabbing, two-faced liar my sister has become! I mean, I always knew she was a liar, but she’s never been this vindictive. I know it’s all because I don’t have regular contact with her. I know our relationship was important to her. All I did was send her pictures, call a few times with the hopes of reaching Lisa, and defend her and her kids to her ex, telling him what any normal person would, yet now she fucking loves him, is sticking up for him, and saying I threatened her and her kids. I never threatened her and I certainly didn’t threaten the kids, and I never had any reason to, but let’s get back to where I left off about last night’s ordeal before I get into the Tammy and Bill details.

The bald cop put cuffs on in front so I’d be entering the jail cuffed and he wouldn’t get in trouble. I entered a large room with a few metal benches, a TV, and a long counter with the staff behind it. There weren’t many white staff members. Mostly blacks and Mexicans. Mostly women, too. They wore black pants with stripes along the side, similar to a cop’s uniform, and gray T-shirts. Some said “Sheriff” on back and some said “Detention.”

Surprisingly, all the women in the holding cell were white except for one. And they were so normal, too. Just your average, everyday people like me, although for the most part, it’s fair to say I’m not your average everyday person. How many people sing, draw, sign, teach themselves foreign languages, have sexually defunct partners, sterility, and an ear like mine? I could go on and on with the things I have or don’t have that aren’t the norm, but I won’t.

I arrived at the jail at 10:30 PM and shortly after I asked to go to the bathroom. They let me walk a few yards down by myself to go to a semi-private toilet. No one could’ve seen me if they walked by the doorway to this room, but if they had stepped into the room and around the wall I was behind, they could’ve seen me. It was an effort to pee, that’s how tense I was. It wouldn’t just effortlessly trickle out like it usually does when it starts. I had to squeeze it out by tightening my muscles and pushing like you do when you’re having a hard time shitting. I was really nervous for other reasons when I first entered this room. I saw that they had an exam table which was obviously used to make sure no one was hiding anything up their crotches. I thought, oh no! Just what I need, tense or not, in jail or not, but luckily, no one ever made me have an exam.

I waited on a bench for almost an hour. There were a few Mexican males on the benches, too. One chatted with me and told me he beat up his brother-in-law. He was friendly and polite, despite his scummy looks and the fact that I would never want to be friends with him. It was freezing in there and he gave me his blanket to wrap around me. He was already in uniform and with the things they give you.

At the counter, they asked me if I had ever tried to commit suicide and if I was thinking about it and I lied and said no. They asked me about illnesses and I told them I had asthma. I tried to find out more about who filed charges against me but they just stated the charges. I made a comment like, “Yeah right, like I really look intimidating? And a big black officer that sort of reminded me of Fat Albert said I did look intimidating and the other officers that were in earshot giggled. I said, “That’s a first,” but I knew he was joking.

So I sat on the bench and waited. During this time, a staff lady, who was actually kind of nice, I must admit, changed the TV channel by remote from behind the counter and upped the already very loud volume. At about 11:30, she took me to the room where the toilet was and further back into the room where there was a long built-in bench and a shower stall. She had me get into an orange prison uniform and told me I couldn’t keep my underwear if they weren’t plain white. My bra was plain white, but I figured I’d be more comfortable without it, so I gave her my bra and leopard print panties, even though I had my period and she didn’t offer me a tampon. Why do I always have to have my period when I get arrested, I thought! Fine, I also thought, don’t give me a tampon. I’ll just bleed all over your uniform, but I didn’t. I wiped when I got the chance to and was lying down most of the time. So she put me in uniform and took my dress, bra, panties, license, and hair elastic, but surprisingly, she let me keep my inhaler. Along with the uniform, I was given a box containing a towel, a blanket, and plastic sandals. They didn’t give me any food cuz I came in so late, but I wasn’t the least bit hungry. Being thrown in jail on account of the people that badgered and abused you kind of sucks up your appetite. In fact, because of the assholes back east and the assholes I used to live next to, I’m two pounds away from my dream premonition, which means I weigh 117 pounds.

The phone’s out again. What is it with these stupid, incompetent cocks cutting lines around here? Can’t they do anything right?

We screwed yesterday. It was the usual, but damn did my crotch hurt! This endless curse God’s put on my crotch just won’t go away. The opening stung and bled when he went in me like it sometimes does, but this was way worse than usual.

I changed my mind about walking on the walker. It’s pointless to do so when I can elevate my heartbeat enough on the Bowflex, as long as I row quickly.

Anyway, my allergies are going off again, as usual. It’s come to be nearly an everyday thing now, partly thanks to Tom. Since the phone was out, I typed him a piece of mind and it goes like this:

It’s pretty ironic how my allergies have gotten worse since you decided you had to trash your office after you promised you wouldn’t and that you would wait till we got sheds/workshop before you went trashing things. Anyway, as always, you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do and to hell with me unless it was a matter of life and death.

During any of the times you were taking breaks over the weekend to play computer games, did you ever think to check eBook rules or order that CD? No, or else you’d have told me and this is exactly what I mean by your thinking of you first and being as selfish as I am, only in different ways. I’m sure you know what I mean by this, but in case you don’t – if you wanted my tits bigger, I’d do everything I could to get them that way, even though bigger tits are the last thing I want. It seems like 95% of the time you’ll only do things for me or with me as long as it suits you, interests you, or has anything in it for you in any way. I hope you’ll remember to make my appointment or give me the number to make one myself.

It’s up to you what you do about the eBook rules, but here’s a reminder – you sat and watched me cry for years, begging for you to go to a doctor, begging for your support, while you made one lame excuse after another, therefore, I’m entitled to a $10 CD every now and then, don’t you think? I’m not asking for a $300 doll right now, or a $200 CD changer, or even a $75 mural.

Also, when I suggested sleeping together on weekends and you went into the big spiel about it, I knew right then and there you didn’t want to do it when all you had to do was say no. am I that hard to say no to? You said to think about it and a week later I told you I had thought about it, was still OK with it, and asked you where you stood on the idea and you said you hadn’t thought about it. Well, if you hadn’t thought about it, then it’s obviously not important to you, but again, you could’ve been upfront about it and told me that for whatever your reasons may be, you weren’t interested in sleeping together on weekends. Why is it that the more I want to do something, the less you want to? Why is it that you’re too OK with knowing my beliefs and opinions about you? If I were you and my wife thought I was lying about things that I wasn’t lying about, I’d want to do everything I could to prove this to her. Not seemingly go out of my way to prove her right! And don’t try to tell me you haven’t thought of sleeping together on a weekend cuz we moved. It won’t work. We’ve been here for 6½ months already.

As much as I love a million things about you, I don’t think I can ever forget how I once said I wanted a kid, which you said you wanted too, yet you wouldn’t do a damn thing to help us achieve this. You couldn’t have said to yourself – we’ve done it my way for this long, so I can at least compromise and do it her way for a little while, but no. It all had to be your way. Things still turned out for the better and it was important for us to get out of Phoenix, cuz Phoenix was getting to me and Phoenix isn’t a great place to raise kids nowadays, but God help me should old feelings/desires return, for all I’d get is the same lack of support, lies, and lame excuses as to why you couldn’t do your part, even out here where the air’s cleaner, people are safer, and there are no assholes a few feet away to live with/deal with 48/7. God’s done enough on his own to control me and limit my choices in life. I never needed you to lend him a helping hand. You can keep me under your thumb and control me if you insist on doing so since there’s obviously not a damn thing I can do to stop you and you can keep your office trashed, but meanwhile, I want the CD in exchange.

Tom’s out digging another garbage hole. Yesterday we swapped desks and I love this desk! It suits my needs way better. Instead of having the desk in the corner, running along two walls, I’ve got it stemming out in a V from the center of the wall where my other desk was. I’m really close to the monitor now, so I could make my font a point smaller. I have little odds and ends in the desk’s single drawer, paper and envelopes on the lower shelves, along with my stapler and paper puncher. The computer box sits on the floor to my right. To the right of the desk is the old printer cart that’s brown and matches this desk. I have the printer on that and more paper, labels and big envelopes under it. I also have those iron-ons, too. I’ll have to use those up some time. On the main desk part, I have my disks, CDs, mail scale and much-needed Kleenex box to the left of me, and my pens, ruler, notepad and scanner to the right. On the top shelves, which like the bottom, are only 7” wide, sit my dolls. I do have my tape dispenser sitting on one of them, too. I’ve got Bailey, Falling Star and my skater Barbie to my left, and my sleeping and crying Indian dolls to the right.

Yesterday’s allergy attack had me miserable again and now the attacks, which used to come every 2-3 weeks, are now coming 2-3 times a week, and I’ve finally decided I’m ready to make an appointment about that and my asthma. I still don’t see what they can do to help me, but if they can, and if it means swapping these problems in for new ones, so be it. I’m ready for something new for a change. I’m sick of this shit!

It’s Linda’s 51st birthday today, and on her birthday we bombed and went to the store. Tom forgot to get bombs at the supermarket yesterday. I couldn’t believe he forgot those of all things! So he got up super early and got them. We left a little after 5:00 and headed with the animals to the grocery store in Sun Lakes. I got a book which I’m gonna totally enjoy till I can get to a bookstore again, and some foods I don’t normally get. Sugar peas, Chinese egg drop soup, and other foods. All good stuff. No junk. I got a sugarless candy bar and my coffee at Circle K, though.

Ever since we’ve been back I’ve been washing dishes, cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, and taking care of the animals.

Tom, for no apparent reason, is tired and achy. He even went to bed at around 9:00 and is still asleep. How appropriate. I mean, of course he’s achy and tired now. It’s the weekend and he has outside cleanup work he doesn’t want to do. He just loves for things to be trashed and he just has to impress the neighbors and “fit in.” Like the neighbors even give a shit? I still love my husband and I always will, but man do I get sick of the lies, contradictions, procrastination, aches, pains and tiredness! Like an old man. Just like an old man.

Tomorrow, early in the morning, we’re gonna bomb. It’s a bitch when you’ve got animals, but it’s worth it.

I decided I’d walk on the walker that’s in the retreat, as well as row and do my usual exercises, cuz rowing is just too easy. It just doesn’t get your heart booming like the walker does. I’ll read while I walk for 20 minutes a day, and will still row for about 5 minutes before workouts. Instead of doing the 14 exercises I do every other day, I’ve decided to do 7 one day, the other 7 the next day, and keep rotating back and forth like that, doing 7 a day.

I’ve decided to go back to getting regular books, the old-fashioned way, at used bookstores. It’s just so much easier than printing out eBooks. Also, I can trade books for store credit and won’t use up so much paper and ink.

Heard a boom car stereo yesterday afternoon for about a minute. It was coming from either the front of the house or maybe even next door. If anyone next door remotely resembles anything Mexican, well, that’s what Mexicans do. They’re very loud people. Maybe not the ones that live there, but their company might come banging in and out every now and then. When there are kids involved, that’s all the more likely there is to be music, but then again, what Mexican doesn’t have kids? In fact, come to think of it, I’ve never heard of any such thing as an infertile Mexican. Maybe there isn’t. There are some illnesses, diseases and conditions that do tend to pick on certain races. Tom was telling me kidney problems are a big thing with Indians. Sickle cell anemia is a black thing, so maybe whites are much more susceptible to infertility.

Last night I wondered if maybe I was still meant to be a writer after all, but only after I work really hard at it. Then I said, nah, or else God would’ve given me the motivation, drive and determination to keep writing, but I have lost all interest in writing save for these journals. On the other hand, wanting to do something may not be enough. Look at all the things I’ve wanted to do, but was never able/allowed to. Remember, I was once willing and determined to work at being a singer and there was nothing I really could do to be a singer, and God certainly didn’t lend a helping hand, either. Back when I wanted a kid and would’ve had invitro in a heartbeat, I had a husband who refused to see a doctor and who would not support me. Now, although he’d fight it and be against it every step of the way, I could get in for invitro, or close enough to it, yet I have no desire to do so, despite the fact that my not losing a child that was conceived either naturally or not is a one to million chance. So, having the resources available doesn’t mean something’s meant to be.

My schedule’s just about back to days. I got up at 4 AM. The rats are back on schedule, too. They had changed their schedule to fit mine, but of course, to them, changing their schedule to fit mine means sleeping for most of the time I’m up.

Still with the hips, and I’ve been working out since early April. Where did these hips come from, huh? I never used to have hips. Or tits. Or droopy neck. Or giant face. Tom thinks I look very fit. How can he say that with all these bouncy rolls of flab? Well, like I said, I intend to turn these flabby inches into something positive. If I can’t lose the inches, then I’ll just turn them into muscle.

Houdini was out running around and playing with both of us last night. He wouldn’t sit with Tom on the couch, but he didn’t mind crawling around him on the floor. He was so cute and energetic, the way he’d run around his cage, crawl all over and around us, including down my nightie. At one point he started straying out of bounds and I called him over and he came galloping back like a little puppy dog. By the way, he’s finally just about as big as Ratsy.

My scanner hasn’t been working right for some time now, and according to research Tom did online, my printer and scanner are too far apart. It’d look kind of stupid if I put the printer cart and the scanner cart side by side, so we decided we’re gonna swap desks. His isn’t whitewashed, but I’ve always liked his desk better. Besides, the other two pieces in my office (the shelves near my stereo, and the big bookcase) are brown. So this way the whole office will be oak.

I was always curious to see autopsy photos and was amazed to find so many gruesome death pictures online. There were a few famous people, but mostly pictures of anonymous people. The gunshot wound to the head section was so gross that I wonder how many of them are real.

I can’t wait till we bomb! When I was getting ready to step into the tub, I saw one of those big black spiders crawling on the curtain, but when I ran to get the Raid and the fly swatter, it was gone when I returned. I still haven’t been able to find it and it gives me the creeps!

I’m shitting regularly now that I’ve been eating around 1500 calories a day.

I tried to reach Lisa yesterday to chat with her and to verify whether or not Tammy got the pictures (although I’m sure she did), but I couldn’t get her to come to the phone and didn’t want to admit who I was. In a childish voice I asked for Lisa, they asked who I was, but wouldn’t put Lisa on. I think it was Becky who answered, I’m not sure. Then I decided to hell with it, and I called back, got the machine, and left a message congratulating Tammy and saying I’d call back soon, but of course, I have no desire to talk to her. I just wish I could talk to Lisa! The machine had Mark’s voice saying: This is the wonderful household of Mark, Tammy, Stephanie, Lisa, Becky and Sarah. Wow! That’s 6 people living in that house. I hope it’s as nice and as big as Tammy said it was.

Later...

Yesterday morning at around 7:30, a cute little baby jackrabbit was hanging out by the well. It was too far away for me to get a picture of, though. I know it was a jackrabbit and not a cottontail by how long its back legs were and by how tall its ears were.

Great news at the doctor – Tom’s fine. His heart is fine and so is everything else. He had a complete physical and says that although it came up the last time he had a physical, the doctor didn’t ask him about sex this time. Yeah, right. I know he did and that he lied as usual to stay the way he is and wants to be, but fine. Let him do what makes him happy.

The funny part of it was that the doctor said he may have exercise-induced asthma, cuz he wheezes and gets sore in the chest after exerting himself. We were both shocked to hear this. Especially after the dream I had. I don’t know if I wrote about it, but I know I told Tom about it; I had a dream the doctor told him he had asthma. Anyway, the doctor encouraged him to exercise more to get his body “immune” to it, so to speak and said that if he continues to get the wheezing he’s been getting towards the top of his, to let him know and he’ll give him some Proventil to take before he goes to do something physical. That’s the same shit I used to take. This morning he said he’s as sore as he was in the chest a couple of weeks ago when this all started. Maybe he injured something that he felt and still does feel when he exerts himself, but who knows? And he did exert himself yesterday. They had him walk on a treadmill for his stress test. I still wonder if a part of it is psychologically induced by stress and issues that scare him but that he just can’t deal with and face, but either way, I have a feeling Tom’s always gonna have problems and that his body’s always gonna seem older than it should. He may be 43, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was 73. Not all the time, but most of it.

Tom showed me how to compress my journal files earlier so I could fit them onto fewer floppies.

Again I called Tammy to try to talk to Lisa, and it appears that Lisa may be upset with me for some reason. I can only guess that it’s because Tammy did pressure her into admitting that she gave me the number and told me about the move/impending wedding and all that, as I feared she might. If she’s hesitant to talk to me for any reason, I don’t hold it against her. After all that’s gone on, she’s probably confused, unsure of who to trust, and it’s natural for kids her age to side with mom.

When I called, Sarah answered and I said I needed to speak to Lisa. She then said, in a softer voice that wasn’t quite soft enough, “Lisa, it’s Aunt Jodi.” Then Sarah, speaking to me, said she wasn’t there.

I told her I just heard her tell Lisa I was on the phone and asked where she was and she told me to call the store (I don’t have the store’s number). Then I asked if she was at the store and Sarah was like, “She, uh, she’s at a friend’s house.”

I didn’t want to put the poor kid on the spot, so at that point, I asked the question I called to ask in the first place – did they get the pictures?

“Yes,” Sarah said, confirming what I wanted to know. That’s when I said goodbye and hung up. I won’t be bothering the B household anymore. Come to think of it, Lisa didn’t sound as excited to hear from me when we talked right before the move as I thought she’d be. Either way, as much as I love Lisa, it’s best that we don’t have any contact the same as it’s best I have no contact with Tammy, Larry, Doe or Art. There’s just too much grief connected to these people.

I forgot to mention that I called Tammy to make sure she was really at the number Lisa gave me before I went to mail her a letter. The first time I called, a guy answered, but I couldn’t tell if it was Mark cuz I never really heard him talk before. The second time I called, I figured that if Tammy were there, she’d be the one to answer the second time around and she did. Then I went online and used a reverse phone directory to find out her address. Just like Bill, she’s in Oakdale, too. I’ll have to see if I can find a map online to see exactly where she is, although I already have a damn good idea. She can’t be too far from Salem and Norwich. Anyway, I never said a word, of course, when I called, and am sending the letter for a few reasons. I congratulated her on her marriage, saying I hoped that this one would be it, reminded her that I don’t hate her, we just couldn’t see eye to eye, etc., and enclosed a copy of my truthful, yet humorous bio for her just for the hell of it. I also know it’ll surprise her to learn that I know about the marriage, her new address, and her new last name, which I could never pronounce before. I just couldn’t understand it when she’d say the name. Anyway, it’s B. I never mentioned looking up her address in the reverse directory, and I sure as hell never mentioned that Lisa gave me the number and let me know about the marriage. I just hope she doesn’t drill Lisa into admitting that I called and that she did give me the info.

There is one more piece of mail I’ve got to send Larry come Christmas. Just thinking about it has me cracking up! I know – I’m a prankster. I just can’t help myself when it comes to these people! I thought I’d do it before Christmas, at a time people are expecting cards anyway. I’ll get a blank Christmas card and insert sequins in it. The card will be addressed from Michelle L, his ex-slut and my ex-roommate I should’ve killed when I had the chance. When he, or Sandy, opens the card and gets a sequin shower, the card will read: Sequins can be messier than pies. And by the way Larry, you shitfuck, this is from your little sister and not your ex-whore, you stupid cock! Give yourself a little Christmas present this year – bend your dick backward and shove it up your asshole!

I forgot to mention that a few days after I began my picture communication thing, I shredded the pictures and hung it up. Why? Oh, I don’t know. That was my past life and I guess I just wanted to leave it there.

The well drilling rig left deep trenches in the dirt due to how heavy it was and how soft the dirt is here, so Tom decided to use that to his advantage and dig a huge hole in the ground to bury our trash. Yeah, I figured he’d never dump the trash on nearby land. Always gotta be a good boy. Anyway, as long as he gets the job done and does it thoroughly, that’s fine with me. Just get the fucking trash out of here for once and for all, I say, and get all the stuff we don’t have shed space for gathered in a neat pile, rather than strewn all around the house.

He’s doing it, he said, cuz he made a promise. Yeah, half a year ago. Although I have my doubts about this “new man” thing, time will tell just how serious he is about sticking to things, keeping his word, eating better, etc.

Yesterday I was absolutely miserable with the allergies again. I just could not stop sneezing and my nose was both stopped up and runny. I had to lie sitting up in bed so my nose wouldn’t get completely blocked. One side was completely blocked, though, and when I went to blow it real hard, it caused shooting pain in my ear. How can God keep watching me go through this time and time again? What did I do to deserve this? Am I really going to have these attacks every 2-3 weeks for the rest of my life? And if not, what will God replace me with? Frequent migraines? Something worse? I don’t understand why just because I no longer have wheezing attacks I have to have allergies instead. Can’t I just get rid of a problem and not trade it in for a new one?

I’d also like to know how I could have just 1000 calories like I did yesterday, yet still weigh what I weighed yesterday; 118 pounds. I should’ve lost a pound or two with how little I ate. And of course, I’m stuck again. I shit a little yesterday, so that means I’m not allowed to today. I probably won’t be able to tomorrow, either. Tom insists you can diet and lose weight even if you only shit a few times a week, but I disagree. I think it’s a major factor in making it hard for me to lose the weight. It’s that, age and God. Also, a smoker’s heart beats faster and they usually have a higher metabolism. One of these days I’m gonna quit this shit and forget about measurements and weight and just “live my life.”

Later...

Got up at 9:00, so I’m 12 hours away from being on a schedule. If the military will take just one more week off, I should have it made. Then it’s just a matter of dodging the storms.

We’re still planning on bombing this weekend, and Tom says he hopes to have all 3 doors porched by the end of the year. Keep dreaming, I told him. There’s no way we can do all that that soon, plus get a thousand-dollar above-ground shallow pool by next summer, too. We’re gonna start with a little pool before we go for the diving pool. The diving pool costs way more and would take much longer to get, and couldn’t be used as often as a small pool. The small pool has less water, so it’ll heat up more easily. We’re gonna build the pool first, then build the Arizona room around it. It’d be too hard to build the pool inside of something.

I’m almost done with the first story I printed out. The one I bought for $4. I hope I like the free story I printed, cuz I won’t have anything to read if I don’t. A part of me thinks I might be better off going to used bookstores like usual. That way I don’t have to spend the money on paper and ink to print books out, and I can’t use eBooks to trade for credit.

Tom showed absolutely no interest or desire for sex this weekend either, yet he did other tasks that were just as physical. I know this may be an unfortunate thing to feel, but I’m glad he didn’t want it cuz I never want it anymore. I don’t need another boring, predictable and pitiful performance by Tom.

He buried some of the trash over the weekend and says he’s nervous about tomorrow’s follow-up appointment with the regular doctor and the cardiologist. He said that although he’s sure they’ll tell him the rest of the tests came out negative, he’s still nervous about the cancer part of it. I don’t sense cancer for either one of us, I told him. I hope I turn out right; that this is just psychological due to stress, rather than a serious physical illness.

I decided, for once and for all, to accept what isn’t destined to be and to use what is meant to be in a positive way. Being skinny at 100 pounds will never be, but it’s about time I took this bigness and turned it into something positive like muscle. Tom and Mary think I’m thin, but they’re just too kind. Either that or they just don’t see me as I see me.

Yesterday, when I was bitching to Tom about how I haven’t had any more “hotspots” for quite a while, he suggested I increase my weights. I didn’t know I was supposed to do that, but he said that I should. Hmmm…could this be why my lower back and backs and fronts of my thighs went down right away, then nothing else changed? Well, either way, I’ve decided to get into all-out bodybuilding. I’m going to steadily increase my weights by 5-pound increments till I can lift no more. Meanwhile, I’m through with the calorie game, and as Tom suggested, I’m through with scales and measuring tapes. I’m big, I always will be, so let’s just see if I can turn my 3-5 extra inches into muscle and get rid of all this jiggly flab! As for my fat face and neck, I’m stuck with it for life, but we can either struggle at things we’re not meant to have, or we can make the best of what we are meant to have. Things could be worse. At least I’m not a pitifully ugly 250-pound thing like that black bitch in Phoenix was. My face may have an underlying geekiness to it, but at least I still have nice eyes. My eyes are big and my eyelashes are long. My nose, although a bit long, is a good size for my face, and my teeth are straighter. I just have a small mouth and a long chin.

Tom says that building my muscles up even more will make my outer layer of fat go away, but I know this isn’t true. I used to think that building muscle ate the fat around it, but that’s not so. There’s no connection. As I build muscle underneath, my outer layer of fat will still remain, but that’s OK at this point. I’m through striving for the impossible. I’m gonna take and use what I can and make the best of what’s possible and available to me.

Woke up at 118 pounds and even shit a little, too. I decided that whether or not I shit, it’s my body, and I intend to lose weight once and for all. I doubt I’ll get down to 100 pounds, but I won’t quit till I’m at least 110, preferably 105. I’ll do the hard work, but this time, I’m gonna get results and my hard work is gonna pay off!

The census people left a note under the front door. It’s amazing that their knocking didn’t wake me up, although the storm did at 7:30, (must be for waking Doe up and calling Bill) but I had had 7 hours of sleep, so it was OK. I wonder why the census people want to talk to us. We mailed in the census form already. They left a number to call or else they’d be back within a couple of days. I’ll have Tom call them so they won’t end up waking me. Dodging the storms is enough when it comes to my sleep, and they’re not like the military which hasn’t returned to flying yet. It can storm at any time of night or day.

I left Bill a few messages yesterday while he was at work, speaking my mind, and no doubt pissing him the fuck off. The cock has a regular machine that only lets you talk for about a minute, but that was enough. I have nothing else to say to the shitfuck. It just hit me, though, that I may have picked the worst day to leave these messages, cuz he may have come home with the kids. If he still has them on weekends (which Tammy must love so she can be alone with Mark), then I’d think he’d go straight to their house to pick them up after work on Fridays. If this is what happened, he probably erased the messages as soon as he heard me so the kids wouldn’t hear what I had to say about him, whereas he might’ve been a bit more likely to have heard me out if he were alone. Either way, he should’ve gotten the general idea by now, and now he has the stress of worrying/wondering what I’m gonna do next and when.

I also called Doe a couple of mornings ago at 6 AM her time, to see if they still existed, and at that number, so I could know if they’d be likely enough to get my mail. I figured they’d still be alive and at the number anyway, and I really think they’ve got another 10-20 years to go. You know the wicked die old.

Speaking of dying, my beautiful white silky mouse died. Meanwhile, the remaining six mice, Butter Rum, Gizzy, Brownie, Cow, Oreo and Freddie, are all living together.

Tom’s doctor called today to let him know that his cholesterol and blood sugar are OK, although they’re not done with the blood tests. Now I’m even more convinced his problems are psychological, brought on by stress and fear. I’m not saying that he didn’t have the aches and pains he said he had, I’m just saying there was no physical cause for it. Better to be psychological, though, than some serious physical illness. It’s quite a coincidence and quite ironic that all my vibes/gut instincts about him have been right on the nose. If I’m right about this being nothing more than a psychological defense against doing things he doesn’t want to do, then I’m doubly sure I’m right about his not wanting a kid and his knowingly and intentionally trying to hurt, tease, control and manipulate me with sex. If I were him and my wife expressed the beliefs she expressed, I’d want to do everything I could to prove her wrong, yet it seems he wants to prove me right. I wouldn’t care at this point if we never had sex again, and sex is sex no matter when you have it, but I’ll bet you anything he won’t initiate it till Sunday. New man my ass! And although I say let him, I’ll bet he’ll take advantage of the vibe I shared with him, which is that he’ll never cum again. At least not with me he won’t. That’ll be the excuse he needs to carry on as he has, and he’ll be like – well since she already believes I’ll never cum again, I won’t, cuz I don’t want to anyway.

I still don’t get why he goes to these extremes and sacrifices, but if he’s happy, and I know he is, so be it. It’s just a shame that my strong man is also so weak and stubborn. You’d think that after 7 years, he’d finally admit that he never wanted the expense and burdens of a child, but maybe after 10 years, he will. Or maybe it’ll take 15, but truthfully, deep down, I don’t believe he’ll ever come clean on that issue. I’ve tried to get it through to him that it’s OK to feel the way he does. His feelings were never wrong, but his lying about them was. You don’t tell a woman who wants a kid that you do too, and that you plan to cum, when you know damn well you don’t and you won’t. I tried to tell him that I’ve been OK with not having a kid for a few years now. Yeah, I think about it from time to time and I’m curious about it, but I’d rather wonder about it than take on something I know I couldn’t handle and wouldn’t be happy with. As I said before, life is expensive and troublesome enough without a third party involved and dragged into things.

He went to see his mom and she gave me a pin cushion this time around. That’s all well and good, but what about snaps and elastic? That’s what I really need to begin my sewing adventures.

I’m back under 120 pounds and that means I’m stuck again. What, am I gonna shit once every 4 days now? That’ll make losing weight easier. So I guess my body’s gonna hold onto everything it gets till it’s back to 122 pounds. Well, it’s gonna have quite a wait, cuz it ain’t getting more than 800 calories a day.

I finally heard from Paula. Her letter was very brief and she didn’t say much. Just that she’s moving (what else is new?), is hanging out at a lake, had her 33rd birthday, has been getting my letters, and Justin’s soon to turn 9. She never mentioned my pictures, seeing anyone, or Tom, but she did send a couple of recent pictures. She’s right. She is fat now. Not huge like the liar in Phoenix or like Andy’s friends Michelle and Donna, but still, you can see it even in her jeans and her jacket. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen her, but hey, she has had kids and she is over 30. Her hair was only about as long as mine, but she still has a nice face. She may be bigger, but she seems to have escaped the big face and neck that I got. She also still looks younger than her age, whereas I started looking my age once I got into my 30s.

Why the fuck won’t she send me those pictures from when we were neighbors like she said she would and like I’ve asked her? I give up. She doesn’t want to send them, obviously, and she never said a word about it. What is it with people’s nature to not admit or deny things they don’t want to do? Anyway, I took a few shots of myself in the bathroom mirror and am sending her those, along with a letter. I put a couple of pictures on the back of the envelope, too. One of the rainbow, and some neat stormy cloud formations.

Yesterday I woke up at 121 pounds and today I woke up at 120. Not because I shit, but because I ate so little the day before. I finally did shit a few hours after I woke up at 7:30 this evening. Yeah, I jumped my schedule by 6 hours.

Today’s a workout day and I’ll have to really push myself. It’s just that I know this workout isn’t gonna amount to anything. It’s hard working out when you know it’s not gonna pay off other than to give you an underlying layer of muscle that you can only feel and you can’t see. Meanwhile, you still have craters and you’re still too big; around the same measurements as you started with a whole 3 months ago. It’s very discouraging exercising hips that just won’t go away, exercising bellies that just won’t go flat, exercising thighs that just won’t diminish much and lose their too-round shape. You can see my thighs are about an inch smaller, but they’re the same funny shape they’ve always been. They just won’t straighten out.

We’re gonna bomb next weekend, and I can’t wait. I’m finding gnats and spiders in here a lot. I really thought there’d be a lot less of that shit in this house, but thanks to the slop job they did around the doors by not sealing them up too well, there’s plenty of room for these creatures to squeeze through. Tom mentioned building little porches outside of each door to make it harder for these things to get in. Great idea.

A devilish grin comes to my face when I think of how yesterday unless God saw to it that they were misdelivered or lost, my favorite assholes got their letters for sure by now. Whatever long-distance carrier Larry has is going to love him, cuz I know he was on the phone to his dear, sweet little folks about it for quite a while. Or maybe not. Maybe he dumped them again over the last couple of years. I just hope that the letters/tape did get read/heard and not thrown out as soon as they realized what it was. Speaking of letters, I decided to send Andy not a letter, but pictures. He’ll be getting 4 sheets of small house and land pictures. 60 in all. Tom said it was nice of me to send this to Andy to let him know I’m still alive. Somehow I get the feeling Andy could care less whether or not I was alive.

Yesterday was the quietest July 4th in God knows how many years! I would never have known it was July 4th. I never heard a sound. No fireworks, no music, etc. Bet those poor people living on the corner of N.21 Ave. and W. Weldon in Phoenix were saying to themselves – my God! Look at these people next door, in their own little world, not giving a damn about those around them! I’d have ignored them if they’d let me.

Better them than me.

Later...

Tom told me that a p-dog ran towards the car as he was driving in yesterday. That’s pretty neat. I haven’t seen much of them lately due to the way they hid for a while cuz of the storms, and due to my schedule.

Since the doctor never called saying he found any infection when they ran Tom’s blood test, I’m more convinced than ever that his aches, pains and tiredness were/are psychological.

And here I am stuck for the fourth day! I wonder if going off schedule has anything to do with it. Since being up since 2 PM, I’ve had only about 700 calories in food and about 300 in coffee. Tomorrow I hope to eat less.

I get bored a lot and I wish I had projects to do every day, and I don’t mean the usual work projects like housecleaning. I mean something fun like hunting for wallpaper. There are only so many sites, though. I could get totally into fantasy games, but I just can’t, cuz it’s never “real” enough for me. If only I could see fantasy through the eyes I had as a child when realism and perfection didn’t matter. I wish I had the enthusiasm and determination I had as a kid. As a kid, I’d turn looking for the calorie counter site I can’t seem to find into a fun, challenging and exciting game. Now, I just don’t have the patience to be bothered with it.

Did my first drawing of the century that came out somewhat decent. It’s of a face. I know I could get to be pretty good if only I could bring myself to practice regularly, but once again, it’s not something I have the patience to be consistent with.

Tom came out and told me he’s a new man as of today. His attitude and habits are going to change, he says, and he’s taking his not feeling well for the last couple of weeks as a sign. He says he’s not necessarily going to succeed in whatever he does, and he’s not saying he won’t do things he did in the past, but he’s not going to keep on going as he always has. One of the things he’s mainly going to concentrate on is better eating habits. Well, I don’t buy it. He may eat better to suit himself, but if I went back to being the wife who once cried for her husband to get help so they could at least try to have a kid, he’d be 100% totally selfish. He’ll never cum again, and if he does, it won’t be very often at all, and he’ll never want a kid or to deal with the issue of his not cumming. He’ll always be the way he is when it comes to sex and a kid, but that’s OK. I don’t want a kid, and even if I did, his happiness is what’s most important to me in this day and age. I can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do, even if he should’ve been more honest about things. Meanwhile, if he wants to sacrifice cumming with me for fear of impregnating me – let him, if it makes him happy and comfortable.

Even if I could get pregnant at the snap of my fingers – I know it’d be the wrong thing to do. I know I’d only be miserable as well as a shitty mom. I’d rather be bored, than not have a life. Also, life’s hard enough and expensive enough as it is.

He also says he’s gonna organize his office again and get going with the yard work. Yeah, but for how long? This guy’s notorious for not sticking to things and doing only part of a job. Let’s see him stick to things and be more thorough for a change.

Speaking of not being consistent – I’m still working out, but it’s getting harder and harder for me to keep motivated. Especially with this very major setback. I feel these last 3 months have been a complete waste of time. All that hard work, just to gain so little, then lose it. When am I ever going to work hard for something and get results? I mean really get results. I don’t mind hard work. It’s when my hard work doesn’t pay off that I’ve got a problem. If hard work didn’t pay off for me occasionally, that’d be one thing, but we’re talking many times. So many times I’ve worked so hard for so little or for nothing at all. It gets old. Really old. People are dreaming when they say that you have to work for the things you want in life. Oh, yeah? Then why am I still fat? I would’ve worked to lose weight and I did work to lose the weight, but God’s just determined as ever to deny me control of my own body. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times – no, God does not help those who help themselves.

I’m both pissed and frustrated now. I spent the last 3 months slaving my ass off, and in 3 months I lose nothing but a lousy 6 pounds, which I’ve just put half of back on due to being stuck for a few days. Why can’t I just fucking be regular?! It’s no wonder I can’t lose weight and I’m so sick of trying! I don’t know why I bother striving for things that aren’t meant to be. I’m sick of these long-term problems. Can’t I ever have problems that are solved within a few days, weeks, or even months, instead of years or never? I’m sick of working so hard for so little, just to end up losing most, if not all, of what little I worked so hard to achieve. I wouldn’t have minded doing the work to lose weight, but it’s really discouraging to see that all my hard work has been for so little. Whenever I work hard and do the right things to obtain something, it seems I get so little, or nothing at all out of it. It took me 3 months to get from 125 pounds to 118 pounds, and now that I’m back to 122 pounds, it’d take me a month and a half to get back to 118 pounds, and no way! I’m not doing the work. It’s just too hard. I’m sick of busting my ass like this, and why bother losing weight that I’ll just gain back anyway? It took me 3 measly days to put the weight back on which took me months to lose – fuck! All I can do is keep working out to keep the muscle taught that’s embedded way under the outer layer of fat I’ll never shed. It’s easy for me to tell myself to just starve the damn weight off, but then what do I do after I start eating again? Gain it back. No thanks. I’ll just keep it and learn to live with it and accept it.

Anyway, it hasn’t been cloudy and stormy lately. I just hope I get my schedule flipped around before they start booming again and the storms do, too. The p-dogs stood underground for days after the last series of storms we had.

Tom got shades today for the den and bedroom which he put up behind the blinds. The bedroom ones are room-darkening and they’ll be great for daytime and moonlight sleeping. The den ones are translucent, so they let light in, but they help cut down on the glare on the TV that’s across from the windows, and they help make it cooler.

It’s nice to know that the lying, abusive hypocrites back east could’ve gotten their mail today, although it’s more likely they’ll get it tomorrow and even more likely for them to get it Wednesday.

Tom had the blood work and chest x-ray done as scheduled, but not the stress test. Guess they weren’t set up and prepared for that, so they’re gonna do it some other time. I asked why they were so irresponsible as to not be ready to do the test, and he said because the doctor felt his heart was OK, and because it’s a special test, they don’t do it too often. He said the person that does the test may not have even been there. At least he got the blood work and x-ray done. So far, it looks like everything’s gonna come up negative and that I was worried for nothing. I’m more and more convinced it’s psychological. I think his subconscious, or even his conscience, is making him not feel well so he can delay picking up the trash outside, something I know he doesn’t want to do (cuz then he can’t impress the neighbors), and to get out of sex. If he doesn’t want to have sex, all he has to do is say so and it’s a done deal. If the issue’s still my not being on birth control - I’d discuss that with him too, but he’s just too stubborn to admit his fears and discuss it with me. He didn’t have to live in fear all these years, and why the fuck he ever let himself cum the 20 or so times he did in the first place beats me. I also think this is an excuse to trash his office. He seemed to have started having these problems right after he bullshitted me about cleaning his office himself.

I decided to see what wallpaper was available online since it’d been a while since I’d hunted for any and I found this awesome site! They had tons of pictures and I downloaded about 70.

It’s been a quiet weekend as usual, and also as usual, I thank God I’m not at the old place in Phoenix!

I was up at 12:30 and shortly after, we were out the door to Circle K for some goodies. Again I’m stuck and again it’s made me gain a lost pound back. I keep bouncing like a yo-yo between 118-120 pounds and will never be able to lose weight consistently as long as I don’t shit consistently. Today I said – fuck it. I’m sick of working so hard for so little. If I’m gonna gain a pound or two, I may as well deserve it by having a 170-calorie candy bar and a cup of English toffee coffee that’s probably got 300 calories in it.

I’ve been having fun looking for free eBooks online, but there’s not a huge variety. Most free eBooks are educational and business shit, or stupid classics like Huckleberry Finn. I downloaded a storybook that may be OK, plus a few short stories that are good, but too short. I really prefer full-length novels.

A little back history:

I grew up in a small, stuck-up town in western Massachusetts. Well, I almost did. I didn’t quite make it because they threw me out when I was fifteen. On the streets? To a friend’s place? To a relative’s? Nope. Worse than that. Got sent to a funny farm and doped up like a guinea pig. Guess I was a bit too moody. My parents weren’t always very nice to me, you see. They were pretty domineering and sometimes downright cruel! Enough to make anyone depressed and a bundle of nerves. I even tried to kill myself, too! Cut my wrists and threw myself out a window and broke my upper arm in half – ouch! I don’t recommend it. Stay away from the window when life gets tough!

After I got out of the funny farm and a residential school that was more like a residential prison, I put up with my folks at their place for another year. My tyrant sister and her one-year-old daughter were there at the time, too. She moved back after spending some time down in Texas. As for the brother – we hadn’t spoken to him in some time because he was a jerk.

When I was twenty, I left my psychotic family and moved out on my own. After working as a housekeeper for over a year, I was out of work and on disability from 1986 – 1994. What did I do with my time? Oh, I spent a lot of it on the phone making prank phone calls and having to go to court for that. After about fifty traps I ended up on probation for a year. They made me see a therapist too, but by then I was used to those and had even come to look forward to gabbing with them. There’s nothing like knowing you can just sit and complain about life’s BS to someone who’s paid to listen to you and know they’re not going to complain that you talk too much!

My health problems consisted mainly of asthma and allergies, and I couldn’t quit smoking until 1997. I was born without one ear and deaf in it, too. In the 70s in Boston, I had surgery to build the outer ear. They did a lousy job.

In my early 20s, I was too nice, didn’t know how to say no, and settled for the wrong people, so I messed around with a couple of guys till I decided it was time to be a dedicated lesbian. After all, I always did have an attraction to women. Some of them, anyway.

By 1992, I had had it with the wet, cold New England weather, and its old, rundown buildings. My parents flew me out to Arizona where I stood with a friend till I got my own apartment and a job as a topless dancer. Two years later I was married and off of disability (so much for being a dedicated lesbian!). I married a really cool dude who’s quite different than me. We believe, unlike most people who tend to seek out their duplicates, that opposites are more fun. I had a feeling all along that I was sterile and time proved me right about that one. After bawling my eyes out over that for three or four years, I came to accept it, even appreciate the good in it (I certainly wouldn’t have the time to write this, and my story, if I had had a kid). I haven’t spoken to my parents in a few years now, because we just could never see eye to eye.

So now I live happily ever after in the desert, even if I still have to deal with life’s headaches. I collect dolls and rodents, love to read, work out and listen to music. I’ve been keeping a journal for almost fifteen years. I had braces to straighten out my teeth, and ear surgery, too. They dismantled the botched frame job they did in Boston, drilled an ear canal, and built an eardrum. Can’t hear much out of that ear, though.

I guess my writing this goes to show just how much I like to write since nothing I send you will ever get published. Anyhow, hope your life was better than mine!

That which you have read above is my joke of a bio (although everything I said is true) that the publishing agency wanted. I wrote it just for fun, though, and I don’t intend to send that, or my story, to any agency. Why send something I know is destined to get rejected? If Tom and Mary didn’t like the story very much, then a publishing agency would definitely reject it.

Later...

Tom said there were tons of lizards everywhere when he was out earlier. There’s another kind we’ve been seeing lately that’s not as big as the iguanas, but they’re still pretty big. They’re dark and fat and brave. Tom said he saw one whimpering like a dog and saw some screwing, too.