#there was one other that emailed me back to tell me the property they were advertising (that is still listed as available) isn't actually

[fiona-fififi]

...

[hunterthecharmer]

Unexpected - Part 5

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

To catch up, here is my MASTERLIST

Days have passed with the convention, with all the handlers speeding to and from all of the trailers on property to get the talent to all their events. You and Savannah had barely been able to catch up with each other and before you know it, you’re waking up on the last week of the con. It had been a great weekend, Dylan dividing his time through almost all the events offered each day. You were going to miss the banter with him and his easy going attitude.

The feedback from all the attendees was also starting to pour in, your email inbox full of them each day from Anne. It was getting you excited for the next event, which got you wondering if you’d be able to be a part of it again. You tuck it into the back of your mind, wanting to bring it up to your boss once you are back at the office.

You slip into the shower to get ready for the day, throwing on some jeans, a white flowy blouse and some sneakers before jumping on your golf cart to meet the other handlers before an event that day- everyone needed to grab and set up the materials needed for a sip and paint going on that day, that all of the talent were invited to. “Savannah! Hey, wait up!” You call after her, and you watch as she stops in her tracks, face lighting up at the sight of you.

“There you are, stranger! Get over here,” she pulls you in for a hug. “I don’t care what our guys need, you and I are not going to leave each other’s sides today!” You giggle at her playful seriousness, tugging on her elbow to grab the boxes inside the warehouse. 

“I actually have a lot to tell you.” You say discreetly to her, once no one else is within earshot. Everyone is scattered around the lawn building the easels for today’s activity, setting out all the brushes and paint colors nearby. Savannah bites her lip in excitement, “Spill!”

You tell her all about your rainy night at Glen’s cabin, and how you haven’t spoken to him much since last week. Savannah is quiet for a moment, processing all you’ve said. “Look, the friend in me wants to scream to everyone here that you kissed your celebrity crush but, the coworker in me wants to smack you back to reality. What were you-” You cut her off, “I get it, I get it! I know it was risky, okay? But it isn’t like I came onto him. You know I would never do something like that. I tried to leave, but he was a gentleman to let me wait out the storm..” Your voice trails off, your mood suddenly deflating. Savannah frowns. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Glen’s one of the nicest guys I have ever met, but we don’t know if he’s a player or not. Same goes for Dylan, and everyone else here! I hope you get where I’m coming from.” She searches your face for a response, but when you remain silent, continuing to busy yourself with setting up, she offers a wink and a nudge. “But enough with the pessimism. Was he a good kisser or what?” 

You meet her eyes again, smiling wide. “The best!”

--- Savannah’s POV---

Savannah drives up to Glen’s cabin, debating whether or not her idea was a good one or not. She really cared about you, and celebrity or not, you deserved to know if he thought of you as a one nighter or actually had some type of real feelings. Once he’s on the cart, he instantly begins chatting her up, just like usual, but Savannah is quiet. “Earth to Savannah. Are you even on this planet right now?” Glen’s chuckle breaks her out of her daze, causing her to swerve the cart into the grass, pushing the break to bring them to a stop. “Glen, I’m gonna level with you here, but I need you to be honest,alright? Off the record.” She questions, eyes narrowing at him.

Glen nods, “Yeah, sure off the record. What’s going on?” he asks, clearly confused.

Savannah takes a deep breath, “When I was sick, my coworker took over your schedule and everything, right?” 

Glen nods, “Right.” 

She continues, “And the night your dad got sent to the hospital, you were communicated with about that in a timely manner, right?”

Glen’s eyebrows stitch together, unsure where she’s headed with this. “Yeah…”

“So, you didn’t read it online or anything, right? I just need to be sure, because I have a thread of texts regarding that night and I just don’t want it to seem like I didn’t do my job. Yes I was sick, but..if this were to be an issue I could lose my job!” Savannah fakes her reasoning for the question, trying to see if Glen will expand on how he found out, or even give more details.

Instead, he just shrugs. “No, you don’t have anything to worry about. Your coworker let me know immediately, hell she even drove through the storm to come and tell me since I didn’t hear my mom or sister’s phone calls. Trust me, you’re good.” He smiles at her, and Savannah feels her heart sink a little bit. “Okay, good. So she came to tell you the news, and that was it? She showed you all the communication from your assistant and stuff,right?” She presses a final time, hoping he’ll crack.

“Yep, she told me everything. She waited for the storm to ease up a bit and then went back to her cabin.” He replies cooly, before reaching into his back pocket for his phone to turn off his ringer, mindlessly reading his new notifications. Savannah concedes, putting the cart back into drive and returning to the path toward the event.

 “Wait, did someone say something about her leaving my cabin so late? I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for relaying the message to me. I know it wouldn’t look good for her job either.” Glen speaks up, and is looking at Savannah now, a hint of alarm in his voice. “Oh! No, no, I don’t think anybody saw her. At least, I haven’t heard anything.” She quickly replies, still mythed that he didn’t mention the kiss. Guess she had her answer.

-------

“Here’s your paint colors, and if you need a refill on your drink  just give me a wave or something.” You pat Dylan on the back, and he grins. “Thank you, bartender. This should be a good time! I promise you this is going to look like a toddler’s masterpiece when I’m through with it.” You both laugh, your eyes landing on a certain someone as they stride across the grass, drink in hand and Savannah hot on his heels. You turn your attention back to Dylan just as the instructor turns on their microphone. “If I could get everyone’s attention, please! Helloooooo Tennessee!”

You wave goodbye to Dylan as you both giggle, the loud noise of the mic startling just about everyone on the lawn. Savannah weaves through the crowd to grab your hand, pulling you over to the chairs for the handlers. You brush past Glen, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a small smile on his lips. You return one to him before Savannah tugs you into a chair. 

“I will be your art instructor for today, just want to go over a few housekeeping items.. Your materials have been all laid out for you by the lovely Ignite Team, so let’s give a round of applause for all their hard work; they’ve been out here since 7am this morning to make this space ready for you all.” Everyone applauds your team, and everyone waves to the talent on the lawn, everyone grinning from ear to ear. 

“Now, the special brushes with the finer tips will be up at the front, as well as texturing tools, glitter…” the instructor continues on before switching the music on and letting everyone get started. 

You turn to Savannah, “Who do you think will paint the best mountaintop?”

She smiles weakly at you, “Oh, I don’t know. Probably one of the girls…hey, want to run to the bathroom with me? Cassandra, can you keep an eye on our boys for us while we run to the restroom real quick?”

Cassandra agrees, the two of you quietly sneaking away to the restrooms down the hill.

“What’s up, everything okay?’ You question her as soon as you close the door.

Savannah swallows before placing a hand on both sides of your shoulders. “Don’t freak out on me, but I kinda sorta asked Glen about the night you guys kissed, and don’t worry I didn’t bring that up, I just acted like I was scared of losing my job over being sick to see if he’d mention anything about you.”

Your jaw drops open, heart rate quickening as you realize that whatever she is about to tell you is going to dictate your mood for the rest of the day. “And?” you ask slowly.

“He didn’t bring it up. He was concerned someone had maybe asked around or mentioned the fact that you left his cabin at such a strange hour, but…that was it. He didn’t blush or stutter or anything. It’s like nothing happened between the two of you at all.”

She shrugs before disappearing into a stall. “I actually did need to go, sorry!”

You slump against the wall, unsure of how to feel. Maybe he was just protecting the interaction? Or, it meant absolutely nothing to him and you just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. His observation rings in your ears, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Except this time, it doesn’t make your heart swell, it kind of gives you an icky feeling. What if he didn’t mean it in a sincere way, but an assuming, cocky sort of way? What if he was just fishing to boost his ego? After all, you’d like to think you had been discreet and professional this entire time when it came to interacting with him, longing glances from afar or not.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you step out from the bathrooms to get some air, the sun shining through the gazebo overtop the building. Savannah soon appears next to you, slinging her arm over your shoulders as you both head back up the hill. “I promise I was just trying to look out for you, alright? We don’t need a replay of last year with Jeremy-” “Fair enough!” You let a laugh escape you, shaking your head. “Jeremy and Glen are not even close to being on the same level, Savannah. But I get what you’re trying to say and I love you for it.” She rolls her eyes. “The feeling of disappointment would be the same.” She states, squeezing your shoulder as you take your seats. 

Everyone is watching the talent paint- some struggling, some just chit chatting while barely getting anything accomplished on their canvas, and others seemed to be thoroughly concentrated on following the instructor.

A sudden wave atop the heads in the crowd catches your eye, and you grin to see it’s Dylan trying to get your attention. You bounce over to him, taking in his progress. “Wow, not too shabby! Are you having fun?” He smiles at you from behind his black Ray Bans. “Hell yeah! Thanks for the support, I really need it for the next section. Would you mind getting me another drink please?” You take his empty cup away from him, “Sure thing! Be right back.” 

You carefully maneuver through the easels, being sure not to knock over anyone’s stuff. Handing the cup to the bartender, you wait for them to make Dylan a new drink. You look out into the crowd to try and find Glen, and when your eyes land on him your cheeks heat immediately. He’s chatting up another guest, her dark hair thrown back in a fit of laughter at whatever he’s saying. They’re both leaning over their easels to talk, and you are suddenly reminded that you are very much not a gorgeous, rich celebrity model at this convention, but simply a girl from LA who is here to work. You make your way across the grass to Dylan, breezing past Glen and the mystery girl who has his attention to try and hear what they’re talking about. All you can catch is her mentioning New York City and Glen’s response is muffled by all the chatter happening around them. You drop off his drink and return to your table, Savannah shooting you a knowing look. “Want me to go over there? He probably needs a refill too.” You sigh, hands in your lap fidgeting with the fray on your jeans. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Really.”

In a huff only noticeable to you, she stands and makes a beeline for Glen. Her appearance stops their conversation, Glen putting his hands up in a gesture that he’s all set on needing another drink. Savannah completely ignores the girl as she walks back to your table. You raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m getting friend vibes. Seriously, she’s wearing a studded leather jacket with heeled boots while Glen’s wearing jeans and a hoodie.” You roll your eyes with a laugh. “So? He probably likes her style. Can we just drop it, please?”

Savannah nods and changes the subject. 

Another half hour passes by, and the event is almost over. Everyone’s moving to the final details of their project, the lawn mostly quiet as everyone locks in. You decide to stretch your legs and find some interesting tools for Dylan to use, making your way over to him when a hand grabs your elbow. “Hey, could I borrow one of those?” you are jolted out of focus, head snapping behind you to see a grinning Glen Powell. “Sorry, no can do. These are for Dylan, but I think I saw Savannah at the table, just flag her down so she can grab one for you.” You smile curtly at him before wiggling out of his grasp and fast walking over to Dylan without ever looking back.

The event finally comes to an end, all of the staff swarming onto the lawn to clean up the mess. The guests disperse to the event hall to eat dinner, some milling about the property to chat. 

You toss a heap of paint brushes into your trash bag, a familiar voice reappearing behind you. “Need a hand with that?” You spin around to see Glen bent over to grab some paint covered sponges, and you gasp. “No! Glen, you’re not supposed to be cleaning anything up. You go enjoy the live music in the hall!” You open the trash bag wider for Glen to successfully dunk them in, a hand running through his fluffy hair. You liked seeing it without any styling creme in it.

“Back to being professional, huh?” He squints at you as the sun shines on his face. You sigh, head leaning to the side. “I work here, remember?” You offer a small, playful smile to him as you shake the lanyard hanging around your neck, and his expression softens. “I just thought that, well..you know..” He steps closer to you, voice lowering to a whisper. It takes everything in you to step backwards from him, his cologne wafting over you. He looked and smelled so good. “You thought what? Honestly, never mind. It was late, we were both exhausted--” Glen interrupts you softly, “I was there.” 

He places his hands on his hips as he stares at you, and you glance around at the other staff members cleaning up, a few of them taking notice of the two of you conversing.

“Anyway, it won’t happen again. How’s your dad doing? Is he home yet?” You ask, before continuing to collect the trash from the ground. Glen sighs before shrugging it off. “Uh, yeah..yeah he’s home. He’s gonna be just fine, thanks for asking.” He pauses for a moment as he watches you continue to clean. “What did you mean by --” 

“Glen! Hey, Glen! Time to head out, you have a conference call in ten minutes!”

Savannah’s voice rings out from across the lawn, and you are grateful. You look up at Glen, a sad smile on your lips. “I’m really happy to hear that about your dad. Really. Now, go! Don’t be late for that call. Good luck!” You shoo him off, and he nods in agreement, a look of uncertainty crossing his features before he turns away to jog over toward the golf cart. 

That evening is the first of many campfires that week, s’mores and hot chocolate the only two items on the menu. You change into leggings and a sweater before jumping back onto your golf cart to pick up Dylan one last time for the day. 

You wait out front for him for five minutes before calling his phone, and when he doesn’t pick up you start to worry. 

“Dylan? Are you ready?” You knock loudly on his cabin door, trying to peer in through the tiny window of the door. Suddenly it swings open, a very pale Dylan O’Brien standing before you, his body weight leaning on the doorframe. “Please stop yelling.” He groans, shoving his palm into his right eyelid.

You stifle a giggle, taking in his sweatpants and hoodie that cling to his body, hair a mess. “You don’t look so good buddy.” You rub his arm.

Dylan grimaces as he nods, “I think I had a few too many drinks at the event. Needless to say I need to sit the campfire out, hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, rest up! Do you need anything?”

You offer, but Dylan shakes his head. “Just go have fun, I’m going to go to bed early tonight.” He shoots you the weakest little wave before closing the door.

The debate with yourself on whether or not you should go to the fire tonight lasted about 10 seconds, the desire to see Glen winning you over. As soon as you park, you spot Savannah and join her group that’s huddled amongst one of the many firepits.

“You made it! No Dylan? Here, have a s’more!”

Savannah welcomes you, motioning toward the empty chair next to her. You greet everyone else and happily accept the dessert, savoring the gooey marshmallow and chocolate combo after the long day you’d had.

“He turned in early for the night. Isn’t it gorgeous out here?” Admiring the stars above you, the others agree. 

You slowly direct your gaze from the fire in front of you to the other pits, eyes quickly finding Glen’s chair. He’s amongst a mix of men and women, but he’s so far away that you aren’t able to make out if any of them are the one from earlier or not. 

A few hours pass before some of the talent begin approaching the staff to turn in for the night, Glen being one of them. You recognize his voice approaching in the distance, stomach knotting as you brace yourself to see who he’s walking with.

The tension in your shoulders dissipates when he stands next to Savannah’s chair, a male figure departing in the other direction. “Ready to roll?” He grins down at her, his green eyes landing on you for a few seconds. You want to get out of your chair and kiss him again, the flames illuminating his features. His charcoal crew neck and joggers make him look so cuddly and warm. You wonder what it’d be like to snuggle up with him.

Savannah’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “You bet! I actually need to fill the cart up with gas though, and there’s a pretty long line. Would you mind taking Glen back tonight?” She looks between the two of you, and you nod quickly as you stand, “No problem at all.”

He gestures toward the carts allowing you to lead the way, “After you.”

 You shoot your friend a look from over your shoulder, mouthing ‘thank you’ to her as you fall into step with Glen. 

The cicadas and crackling fires fill the air, a cool breeze sending a shiver down your spine as you drive down the dirt path. 

“How was your day?” You ask him, desperate to have a non-awkward golf cart ride.

“It was awesome, I really enjoyed that painting class. Even though it’s not worthy of hanging in my house, I don’t think I did too bad of a job.” He laughs to himself as he picks at some fuzz on his sweatpants. You force a small hum in response, eyes fixed on the path ahead. 

“Are we cool?” Glen speaks again, this time his entire body turning to face you in his seat, one arm extended up to hang onto the top of the cart.

As you peer over at him, the moonlight illuminates the small smile tugging at his lips. If it weren’t so dark out, you might have thought you detected some concern in his expression. 

You nudge him softly, “Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well we kissed a few nights ago and ever since then I feel like we haven’t gotten to talk at all.”

You feel chill bumps rise on your arms at his statement. Did you really expect the kiss to never come up again? Maybe, but ever since you saw him getting cozy with the mystery girl from earlier your opinion had changed.

“Are you blaming me for that?” You feel him tense at the bite in your tone, his head cocking to the side. His eyes still fixated on you, he reaches over you and presses a foot to the brake abruptly, your bodies lurching forward as he turns the key to switch the cart off. 

“Woah,hey! I’m not blaming you for anything.”

You scoff at his words, eyes rolling at his stopping of the cart. He seems to forget that you’re still on the clock, and very much not alone out here. A few carts pass by, the both of you offering polite waves to them. A moment passes and you remain silent, fearful of eavesdroppers.

Turning the key quickly you press down hard on the gas pedal toward Glen’s cabin.

Once there, you cross your arms over your chest. “Goodnight Glen.”

Running a hand through his hair he slides off the golf cart, the only noise between you the gravel beneath his feet as he rounds the front of the cart to crouch at the steering wheel. He places a hand on your knee, shaking it playfully. “Look at me.”

His tone is earnest and you allow your eyes to lose themselves in his. 

“It was leather jacket girl, wasn't it?” he chuckles in the dark, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“So you did notice?” You mumble, face on fire. He stands and outstretches both hands to you, and you oblige without another thought.

Glen places a hand on the small of your back to lead you up the stairs first, your mind swimming in wonder of what’s about to happen. 

“Yo, Powell! Turning in so soon?”

The two of you freeze, Glen’s grip tightening on the bannister. Out of instinct, you drop on all fours. He mouths for you to go inside, slipping his key card into your palm. You nod quietly, crawling across the porch toward his front door.

Glen turns around, backing up the staircase to try and hide your body. 

“Yeah man! I have an early call time in the morning. Why, what am I going to miss out on?”

The man laughs, “Your loss! We’re about to start an intense game of charades in my cabin. All good though, see you tomorrow!”

You eavesdrop from the window, giggling as Glen appears through the front door. “That was close!”

He nods as he locks the door behind him, closing the curtains. “Don’t worry, he didn’t see a thing.”

And just like that,you’re standing inches away from him in his living room again - alone.

“Fun fact for ya, I actually think leather jackets are tacky. Especially ones with studs all over them. They’re spikey and they hurt.” Glen feigns a serious face, his tone humorous.

“You’re ridiculous.” You grin wide at him as you throw both arms around his neck, tugging him even closer to you. Your confidence surprises you once again, but in this moment you’d do anything to feel his lips on yours again. He was undeniably attractive 24/7 but even more so right now as he makes you laugh. He had seen you. He knew you were jealous and yet he tried to talk to you at the event. You felt even worse for being rude to him earlier.

His arms wind around your waist as he presses his forehead to yours. 

“While you were jumping to conclusions, I was admiring you look out for Dylan and everyone else around you. Watching you do your job and keep the place organized.”

Eyes shining at him as you learn that he’d been observing you, he leans in to kiss you. You relax into his grip, fisting your hands into the soft material of his crewneck.

“We’re cool now.” you say before kissing the tip of his nose. He hums in response as he kisses you one more time. 

You talk with him for a good while about his schedule the next few days as well as other projects he’s slated to begin next year for work. He asks about your job back in California and you talk a bit about how you and Savannah got so close. 

When the two of you start to yawn, you stand to your feet from his sofa and he groans. 

“Don’t leave me!” He teases, tugging on your arm. You back away slowly, palms raised as you bite your lip. “It’s time.”

He kisses you, whispering a ‘no’ against your lips. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You blush under his gaze and wave your phone at him. “Text me! We’ll figure it out.”

Accepting your answer, he unlocks the door and swings it open for you. 

“Goodnight pretty girl.” 

His compliment causes you to turn back to face him from the porch, his body leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He looks so handsome it feels like a dream.

You blow him a kiss before quietly sliding onto the golf cart to drive back to your room.

[growinguparo]

Thinking once again about the intersection of being aro / perpetually single and the Housing Issue. It is without a doubt the biggest issue I face as an aro person, particularly in fucking Canada.

In my province we have rent control on almost all rental units by default. Annual rent increases are capped at 2.5%, and though I have had landlords in the past try to break that law, they back down when you say "that's literally not legal lmao try again".

In my province we also have a type of lease called a group lease, where multiple people sign on as a group. This is the standard type of lease used in properties with more than one bedroom.

If one person wishes to remove themself from a group lease, that terminates the lease for all of the other tenants in the group. Therefore, in order to continue living in the unit they are already in and may have been in for years, the landlord can choose to force the remaining tenants to reapply, and upon signing a "new lease" they can increase the rent by however much they want. Forget 2.5%, they could double rent with no consequences and still get tenants because that's how desperate people are in Canada.

Seeing as that's fucking insane, I talked to multiple lawyers about it the last time this happened to me, and they all said yeah no, if someone wants to be removed from the lease then the landlord can choose to deny a takeover and force a new lease. You can prevent the issues that come with a new lease if everyone remains on the old lease even if they no longer live there, but that is rather precarious for everyone involved and also makes your landlord hate your guts.

Anytime a new lease is signed, landlords can increase by whatever they want, so renovictions are very common (I've been renovicted as well). With all these easy-to-access loopholes, "rent control" is a joke.

It is New Year's Day and I have received yet another email informing me that since one of my roommates decided to leave at the end of the lease period, our lease will be terminating and showings will begin next week. If any one of us wants to stay, we have to reapply at market rates with a replacement person already in the group ready to sign a new lease, or we have to all remain on the old lease.

I left my parents' home in 2016, and since then I have moved 15-17 times, depending what you count as a move, and lived in 12-13 different places. That's due to a bunch of forced circumstances, including co-op placements and illegal evictions, but many of those moves were because the roommates I was living with decided to move on with their lives, and I had no choice but to move as well.

When I tell people I've moved 15 times in 7 years, they are always shocked. I'm like, how have you NOT though? Having had this conversation many times, I start to ponder what makes me vulnerable to this type of exploitation, and what makes my friends able to avoid some of it.

#1. As a low-income disabled person, I am unable to afford "market rates". This means I'm always tryna get units that are below market rate, and those landlords are invariably very interested in removing their tenants to bring their busted-ass units up to market rate.

#2. I am SINGLE bro. No one is planning their life around living with me. Every time a roommate leaves, I get forced out too. I did have a long-term roommate for a couple years who bounced around 4 places with me, but eventually she moved city - as is her right - and I was forced out again.

Couples also have more options when it comes to affordable housing, particularly if they are willing to share a room. Sharing a room cuts your rent in half. It’s pretty rare to see just one person living in a 1bed because it’s just ludicrously expensive, but for couples it’s a decent option. During the searching stage as well, if you already have someone to live with it’s a lot easier to find places than if you also have to find new roommates (this part is especially brutal for me as a trans person). It is certainly still difficult for couples in the market, I know couples who have ended up homeless as well, but being alone makes you more vulnerable.

The housing crisis is a broad issue affecting literally everyone, but single people are one of the groups that is systematically disadvantaged, making it a significant issue for aros imo. It is the combination of being single and low-income that has made me so vulnerable to housing instability.

Edited with minor corrections

[joshsindigostreak]

O, Pioneers

Chapter One

“We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way.” - Walt Whitman

Sam Kiszka x F!OC

What started out as a series of emails snowballed into Sam Kiszka having the one person in his field he could not stand to staying in his house for a few days. It’s only for a few days. Can he survive having her around him 24/7 or will Natasha Delaney end up being the one to foil all of his plans?

Authors Note: Hey y’all!! Sorry for leaving you hanging so long with this story I wanted to get the other three stories established before I got back to this just for consistency sake. But I do hope you like Sam’s story. I have so much planned for it ❤️ if you need to catch up on the Prologue you can read it here!

Disclaimer: *Set in the months prior to ISHIYE, so in the same universe but can be read independently. It’ll crossover the most with Running Through the Garden and there will be references to the other fics but not to the point of confusion. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,793

Warnings: Some swearing but that’s it for now.

The Kiszka Estate as it was often referred to was truly a sight to behold. The grounds weren’t massive, but the Manor itself was a four-story English Tudor that danced the line of being over the top while reeking of Olde Money. The family had been living on this property for generations, and depending on what you thought of them it was either referred to as the Manor or the Compound.

Natasha stood in the circular driveway, her luggage sitting idly beside her as the Uber drove off, leaving her alone outside. She could tell whoever designed the house intended it to be visually intimidating, but it wasn’t working on her. 

Of course the mother fucker couldn’t actually pick me up from the airport, she growsed in her head. He did however, set up her Uber for her, so she didn’t have to pay for it, but it was the principle of it all. She squared her shoulders and picked up her bags, listening to the gravel crunch under her shoes as she approached the front door. 

As she ascended the steps to the Manor, the massive front door swung open to reveal Sam Kiszka. Natasha stopped in her tracks as she took him in. The Sam before her was significantly different than the last time she saw him on graduation day. His hair was still long, but looked like a professional had finally started cutting it, his forehead was frustratingly blemish free, and those Sanpaku eyes stared right through her as they always did. But the biggest difference was the surprising amount of facial hair on him. He couldn’t grow a thing on his face back in college, and any attempts were so patchy and thin that it was never worth it to even try. But now? Now there was a thick mustache sitting on his top lip, accompanied by an equally thick tuft of hair sprouting from his chin. The way his chin hair was creeping up his jawline, it was clear he was letting it do its own thing and not actively trimming it to stay in one spot. He wasn’t as willowy as he was either, having finally started to fill out. He looked so different yet so…Sam at the same time. He looked goo-

“I thought you said your flight was coming in at two, Nat?” 

Mood ruined. That smart ass tone was still ever present in his voice. 

“It did,” she replied flatly. 

“It's nearly 4:30 PM.” 

“I’m glad you can tell time, Kiszka,” she rolled her eyes and continued towards the doorway. He scoffed under his breath as she walked past him and into the house. 

“I’m just saying that keeping someone waiting like this is rude,” he remarked as he shut the door behind them. 

“Well it’s not my fault that it takes well over an hour to get from the airport to these…hallowed grounds,” Natasha gave him an irritated look over her shoulder, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

Sam rolled his eyes back at her, and the conversation he had had with his best friend Daniel a few days prior ran through his mind.  

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be having a guest at the house this weekend, she’ll be flying in around 2:00 PM,” Sam threw out before taking a bite out of his bagel. 

Danny stared at him from across the little table they were sitting at. Every few days they’d have breakfast together before going their separate ways for the day, and on this particular Wednesday morning, Danny was taken aback by what Sam had just said. 

He leaned forward towards Sam and rested his elbows on the table, “you’re having a guest…at your house?” 

“Mmmhmm,” Sam replied, still chewing. 

“...and this guest is a girl?” Danny tried to not smile but his eyes twinkled anyway, “is there someone I don’t know about?” 

Sam finally swallowed and looked up at him, realizing how he made this sound, “Oh don’t get that look on your face this is strictly for professional reasons. She won’t be here for very long.” 

“Professional reasons,” the skepticism clouded Danny’s voice. 

“Yes. You know her anyway,” he added before drinking more of his coffee. 

Now Danny was even more curious, “I do?”

“Yeah. It's Nat Delaney.” 

The Wolf blinked several times at Sam before answering, “Delaney is staying…at your house?”

“Yeah it’s just for some of her own research. There’s an artifact she needs to get her hands on and I refused to risk it through the shitty mail system so she came to me instead,” at this Sam had finished his meal and sat back in his own seat. 

Natasha was a frequent subject between the two of them in college. She was the only student at that university to get better grades than Sam, which pissed him off to no end. Danny had no issue with her, as she was always nice to him and her exceptional grades didn’t matter to him. Even though his best friend bitched about it constantly, they were both still the top of their class. He also thought that a little competition for Sam was good for him. It wouldn’t keep him humble by any means, but it would keep him on his toes. 

“How did this happen?”

“We exchanged some professional emails and she explained her dire situation and I, just happened to be the solution to her problem,” Sam didn’t even try to hide the smug look on his face. 

The two friends stared at each other for a few minutes, but with entirely different trains of thought. 

“So is she just going to stay in one of the guest-”

“I’ve already got the corner room cleaned up for the most part, just have to get some of Jake’s shit out of it.” 

Danny had been wandering the halls of Sam’s house since he was 14 years old, and he knew exactly what room Sam was referring to. The ‘corner room’ was what they called one of the many rooms that was intended to be for guests, but over the years each of the kids started using it as a storage room given its proximity to their bedrooms. The proper guest rooms were on the first floor, just off the kitchen. The corner room was also a literal description, as it was at the end of the hall on the second floor. The corner room was also directly across from Sam’s. 

“Why that room?” Danny asked, his eyes twinkling again in curiosity. 

“It was the closest room I’d need to clean out and the rooms downstairs and who wants to stay in the rooms downstairs that my parents' weird friends use?” 

“Ok,” Danny said, elongating the letters and not believing a word that came out of Sam’s mouth but playing along anyway. “Are you going to put a chocolate on her pillow?” 

Sam gave him a look, “totally and I have so much of it around the house since you can’t eat it.” 

Danny frowned in offense, “I can eat chocolate, Sam and you know it.” It was a common stereotype that since Wolves were in fact, Wolves, that they couldn’t have chocolate like regular canines couldn’t. It also had been at the center of an incident where Sam’s mom had brownies left out on the counter and Danny dove in and shoved a corner piece into his mouth, and Sam panicked that he was going to get sick from it. But no, the young Wolf was fine. After that it became a running joke between the two friends.

“Anyway, she should only be here for a few days max and then she’ll be off to whatever it is she’s been doing,” 

“I’m definitely swinging by. I’m not going to miss the two of you kill each other.”

“I can assure you, Daniel, that she won’t be there long enough for that to happen.”

“Sure. I believe that. You couldn’t even go five minutes in Professor Reid’s class without snapping and correcting each other. Or all the times you started arguing in the library and nearly got kicked out for being loud. Or when you’d fight over that one bench under the will-“

Danny. It’ll be fine.” 

Sam was snapped out of his memory by Natasha’s voice. She had walked into the main corridor of the house, right next to the grand wooden stairs and the archway into the formal living room.

“So where in this palace am I going to be staying? How many bedrooms is there? Eleven? An even dozen?” 

“Seven. And your room is upstairs.”

She looked up the stairs to her left, noting the carpet that ran down the middle of the steps, the solid wood rail and banisters. The whole manor was the definition of ‘they don’t make them like this anymore.’ The family clearly spared no expense preserving the integrity of the architecture over the decades. 

“Lead the way, Kiszka.” 

She stepped back to let Sam get in front of her and before she could reach for her bags, long slender fingers curled around the handles. Sam didn’t say a word and began up the stairs, taking her heaviest bag with him. She stared at him momentarily, surprised by the gesture, but quickly recovered with the rationale that it was the least he could do at this point. 

At the top of the stairs Sam took a right down the open hallway that led down a corridor that split off in two opposite directions. He took a right and Natasha counted three doors on either side of the hall before Sam stopped at a final fourth door on the right. There was a door at the very end of the hallway, right between the final two doors on either side. 

Sam used his free hand to twist the doorknob, revealing the room behind it. 

The first thing Natasha  noticed were two nearly floor to ceiling windows on the wall that was opposite the doorway, flanking a large four poster bed. She followed Sam into the room and spotted another door on the far wall on the right, which she guessed was for a closet. There were antique-looking amber lamps on both nightstands, and as she turned to view the wall next to the door, she saw one of the most beautiful rolltop  desks she had ever seen, pushed up into the corner with a few bookshelves on the right of the desk leading back to the doorframe. 

It was another antique, and the craftsmanship and details in the wood was so intricate that it had to have been done by hand. She wanted to run over and push the lid back to reveal the actual writing surface and the little drawers for writing supplies. 

Sam's voice cut through your thoughts, “it’s not much but it’ll work while you’re here.” 

Natasha turned around and gawked at him, it nearly irritated her how privileged he sounded, “Sam this is a beautiful room.” 

He blinked at her, not used to hearing her verbalize positive sentiments. After a few moments of eye contact he looked around the room and asked, “so, where do you want me to put your stuff?” 

She pointed to the foot of the bed, where a small bench sat just in front of the frame, “there is fine.” 

As he situated the bags, she turned to walk over to the large windows. The view was almost better than the room itself. The lush lawn stretched out on the grounds below, a thick blanket of trees stood off in the distance, fencing in the grass. She looked to the right of the window and her eyes went wide at the sight of what appeared to be a small but ambitious garden. Several raised beds were lined up in neat little rows, along with a few ground-level beds off to the side. 

She looked over her shoulder at Sam who was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, “is that your garden?” Maybe the light was playing tricks on her but she could’ve sworn that Sam’s cheeks reddened at the question. 

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “you garden?” 

“That’s typically what one does in a garden, Nat.” 

Her brows fell at his tone, there was the Sam she knew. 

“I was just surprised because you never took any of the horticulture classes at Lakewood, at least from what I remember.” 

He shrugged, “I didn’t really get into it until after we graduated.” 

The image of Sam Kiszka gardening was an image that would remain locked in her head. Nope, no one was going to know about the way she instantly envisioned Sam of all people gently watering a tomato plant. 

“Well, hobbies are good,” she said lamely. What the fuck, Delaney? Hobbies are good? You simpleton.  Desperately needing to change the subject, she turned on her heel and pointed over to the roll top desk in the corner, “that’s really pretty.”

Sam looked over at the antique, he wouldn’t tell her that he spent the better part of an hour the day before dusting and polishing the wood. He wouldn’t tell her that he was on the floor making sure to get all the nooks and crannies of the legs, clearing out any cobweb he saw. There was no way he was going to let any piece of furniture be the subject of her scrutiny. Natasha Delaney, knowing he had a dusty house? That would be humiliating. Right? 

Right? 

“Oh, yeah, that was my great-grandmother’s. It was a present from my great-grandfather to make up for him being stuck in France for a lot longer than he intended because of a hunting job.”

Natasha nodded in response and walked over to the desk. She turned back to Sam, “can I…”

“Go right ahead,” he replied while walking over towards his rival. 

She smiled and turned around to lift the roll top, but it didn’t budge. She tentatively tried again, but it would not lift at all. Well shit. 

Sam saw her struggle and reached around her to help, their arms brushing against each other. 

“Sorry it gets stuck sometimes,” he mentally cursed himself by not double checking before she got there. His large hand nearly wrapped around hers to get a grip on the small handle. Her wine-colored nails stood out to him. The undertone of the polish complimented her skin perfectly. The same skin that felt so soft in comparison to his. The image of Natasha meticulously painting her nails flashed in his mind but he quickly shook it away by focusing back on the desk. In slight frustration he jerked at the handle one final time and it immediately slid up and into place, revealing the rest of the desk. 

A small gasp left Natasha’s lips as she saw the gorgeous inlays on the writing surface. 

Sam refused to acknowledge the physical reaction he had at the sound, or where on his body it happened. It didn’t happen. Nothing to see here. 

“This is so pretty! It had to be done by hand given the time period and the attention to detail. A machine could never do this,” she explained while lightly dragging her index finger along the edge of the main inlay in the center of the desk. She didn’t even realize she was rambling because of the proximity to Sam. He was still bent at the waist next to her, leaning his one hand on the desk. If she just turned her head to her right, ever so slightly, their cheeks would touch. 

The two rivals stood there, rooted in the spot, waiting to see who was going to blink first in this standoff. Sam did not want to acknowledge how the loose spiral of blonde hair in front of her ear was just barely touching his face. He didn’t want to acknowledge how his lips could brush that same ear if he turned to his left just so. The silence was deafening. 

They were so distracted that they didn’t even hear one of the doors downstairs open and shut. 

They didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. 

They didn’t-

“Natasha-fucking-Delaney,” a familiar and deep voice called warmly from the doorway. The sudden noise started them both and caused them to jump and spin around. Sam couldn’t even focus on the second sharp gasp that his house guest made so close to him. She had already taken off to envelope Danny in a hug. Sam stood there in front of that roll top desk, suddenly by himself.

For the first time since he was fourteen, Sam was disappointed at the sight of his best friend.

Tag List:  @roving-blade , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty ,

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not allowing someone to look at the serial number on my PS5 or the PS5 box to confirm it is not someone else's?

Okay, so, last month a now ex-family friend (I will call him M, late 30s - early 40s) got kicked out of a shed he was living in, in the back of his brother's garden. So he asked my dad (73) if he could keep a couple of things in our garden, and my dad, despite me (29F) and my ma telling (ma is also in her 70s) him it is only going to lead to trouble, and he also already had a storage locker that he could take it all to. He didn't listen to us and said that M could. Ma and I weren't very happy about it, but you can't really tell dad anything without getting snapped at.

So M put his electric tricycle in our back garden on the decking, some other electrical bits for it in my dad's shed. He also asked us to keep his son's PS4 for him safe as he doesn't trust his family (his brother and the people living in his brother's house would steal from him all the time, and his parents, and other brothers who live with them are drug dealers and M doesn't trust their customers or them to not steal and sell it.) And he asked us to keep his PS5 which he put in a blue suitcase because he didn't have a PS5 hard case to carry it with.

We left the PS4 and the PS5 alone. The only time we touched either was to put the PS4 into a bag because he never put it in one, and to move both the PS4 and PS5 into the shed, which is secure while we had the living room floor ripped up to fix it as it was rotting away. But other than that, no one touched it.

Now three weeks ago, more like four at this point, he came over to collect his PS5 and PS4 routinely like he always does (he also leaves his things unattended at his parent's house while he goes out to smoke weed or to sell drugs. He also used to live in a group home after leaving the shed he lived in, and now currently lives in a caravan outside his parent's home, which is opposite our home.) Anyway, he left with his PS4 and PS5 and back a couple of hours later yelling at my dad.

M said that my dad, me, my brother (30M), and our long term family friend (B. Male and I think either late 40s to early 50s) of logging into his PS5, changing the email address, changing his password, deleting all of his games and pictures from it and swapping his PS5 for someone else's.

To clear things up, me, my brother and B have our own PS5s. B has a digital one, I bought one back in March because Microsoft banned my account and wouldn't get in touch with me for 4 months (this was because I added my phone number as a security message.) And my dad bought my brother one because I got one.) So we have no reason to swap PS5's at all since we all have our own, save my dad and ma who watches me play mine when I sit downstairs with them. And if we didn't have a PS5 we wouldn't do anything to someone else's property, and we also do not have the money to just... Randomly get a PS5 to switch with someone else's PS5.

He said that we must have done something because he's just left it here. Forgetting he takes it back to the group home, he took it over his parents, he took it to the caravan site he used to have his caravan in and would often leave it there where he leaves the doors unlocked and anyone can get in. M left when my dad told him to take his stuff and leave and that he (my dad) wants his tools back.

M came back 5 days later, told us that he called the police and that he handed the police his PS5 AND now his PS4 over to the police because "now the 1tb hard drive in the PS4 is missing, and you took it! That or your friend did because you told me that B was having storage issues in his PS5" when B never even knew that we were keeping his PS4 and PS5 safe. And neither of us have a PS4 either, no reason for us to even touch ANY of this PlayStations. My brother and I told M that he's not going to find any of what he's looking for here 'cause we have our PS5s.

So M asked to see our PS5s to make sure. And ma and I said at the same time, "no you can't. If the police are involved then the POLICE can check the PS5s." To which he turned around and called us assholes. But this was 3/4 weeks ago, and we still haven't had a visit from the aforementioned police.

So... Are we Assholes?

TLDR; M accused me and my family of swapping and stealing things from his PS5 and PS4, "called" the police on us, and called because we said no to HIM checking the serial numbers on our PS5s. (3/3)

What are these acronyms?

[thedreadvampy]

My housemate is moving out in January

She told us this a week or two ago, when she sat down and, after sitting with us watching TV for over an hour, said "hey so I bought a house and I'm moving out. We agreed on 2 months notice so I won't move until the end of January."

The last time she talked in the immediate terms about buying a house was in 2021, when the sale she was working on fell though and she was unemployed so it was a "when I'm back in a position to look I'll start looking again." Since then I've occasionally asked her how she's doing on the house buying front and she's been like "oh I'm getting there financially" but hasn't mentioned anything concrete.

She didn't tell us she was looking at places. She didn't tell us she had put in an offer. She told us when the offer was finalised. A week AFTER she emailed the letting agent about getting out of her part of the lease. And, it increasingly feels like, only because the letting agent's response was that we had to agree to change the lease.

The letting agent's response (which our housemate obviously didn't copy us into; we had to follow up separately and they copied us into the email chain) also includes that when we change the lease, they're empowered to change the rent, quote, "no cap". Rent was already going up in January - there's no possibility of Sam and I paying her share of the rent.

The really fucking upsetting thing is we're not strangers. This isn't a casual "housemate we found on flatshare" thing. She and Sam have lived together literally their entire adult lives. Me and her have known each other well over a decade. I lived in her and Sam's flat when I was homeless. We were the first people she came out to as trans. We're not super close but I thought we were fucking friends. And she's literally gone out of her way to not talk to us about this for what must have been months while the sale completed - which means she's lied to my face at least once cause I've asked her about her finances in that time (cause she's in a job she hates that she only took to get the house money, so it's like. when we've been commiserating about work stuff I'm often asking 'are you almost free?'). she literally went out of her way to talk to the letting agents before talking to us about putting us in a situation where we could lose our fucking home.

And she keeps. trying. to pretend nothing's happened. Every time I've seen her since then she's not mentioned anything or apologised or anything, she just keeps chatting away and offering hugs and fistbumps like nothing's happened. Like we're still fucking friends.

All it would take for us to still be friends and to be happy for her would have been one fucking sentence in the groupchat like "hey, just put an offer in on a house" or "I'm looking at properties, just so you know, that might happen in the next few months". Like nobody begrudges her for buying a house! It's very cool for her! She's 31 she's worked really hard to get the money I would love to be happy for her! Unfortunately she decided avoiding conflict is more important than giving the people she fucking LIVES WITH (who btw fronted her a month on the rent here while she was unemployed and agreed to take on a larger proportion of the move-in cost back in 2021, if we're still holding ourselves to shit we said 2.5 years ago), so no, you are not entitled to our friendship or to going back to normal.

like if she'd been honest with us it would have been something to process but we'd have had time to figure out our next steps. instead she's left us in a position where we have to find a new roommate before she gives her one month notice, which means finding someone by the end of December, which oh look that's the middle of the fucking Christmas holidays. and she didn't tell us anything until the START of December, or copy us into her conversation with the letting agent, meaning we still don't know what the rent on that space will be so we aren't yet in a position to advertise it. Has she offered to help find a roommate? Has she fuck. Has she offered to help out by moving her move-out date? Nah, she's moving as soon as she gets the keys because, quote, "that means her finances won't have to change". SOUNDS LOVELY. NOT HAVING YOUR FINANCES SUDDENLY CHANGE. I THINK THAT SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY REASONABLE FUCKING GOAL.

Thirteen fucking years she's lived with Sam. Four fucking weeks over Christmas she's left us to figure out a way to not turbofuck our living situation. And she's got the fucking nerve to try and pretend we should be interacting like nothing's changed. Jesus Christ. What a fucking unhinged way to treat...anybody, honestly. never mind the friends-your-entire-adult-life part. literally cannot imagine a scenario in which I would buy a house without telling the people I lived with.

(haha actually this is what my parents divorced over so apparently it's not unusual. although at least my dad had the decency to tell the woman he shared finances with at the point he put in an offer not the point the fucking sale went through.)

Like we'll be fine. It's a huge city centre flat with decent rent and queer housemates, hopefully even when the rent goes up it'll be an easy sell in a city with a huge housing shortage and big queer community. We've got a couple of people interested already, sight unseen - worst case scenario we have to live with someone we don't get on with. And it's given Sam and me a push to look at our own finances and as of today, we've got a mortgage decision in principle and can start looking at flats in the area - mind, we'll be transparent upfront and tell any prospective housemates that yeah, we're looking to buy and move out in the next 6-12 months, and we'll tell them if we put an offer in, because we're decent fucking people who aren't going to spring that on someone out of the blue.

But it's been I think 2 weeks and I'm so fucking angry I could spit. It's such a fucking betrayal. And frankly you know selfishly like. I just had a breakup a couple of months ago, I'm in the middle of moving jobs, both me and Sam have a history of housing instability and this has been the first decent, stable, safe, not-mouldy not-freezing home I think any of us have had, and this is so fucking triggering and upscuttling I could just start biting. like I was talking to my friend about it last week and it's just like. Can I have One Fucking Thing of the three main tentpoles of survival - home, work, relationships - that are fucking stable right now? because shit has been In Flux lately. and at least the work and relationship stuff has changed because of my decisions. going through all that work to make myself short-term unstable to gain long-term stability has been really hard and draining and then just as I was reaching the crisis point with work stuff BOOM, IT'S HOUSING INSTABILITY WITH A STEEL CHAIR. fuck. seriously fuck this and fuck her. we're going to make something good come of it but what a deeply, unbelievably shitty thing to do.

[gregorygerwitz]

Other Moustead + I will give you a treat if you just lay down and go to sleep.

hello, love! you already know this, but this is a follow up fic to a simple distraction. it expands on a story that Mouse tells in that fic, and deals with the aftermath of the events of it, so I do recommend reading that one first!

[ i’m in a Will/Mouse prompt mood ]

[ text | from: Will ] I know sneaking out in the morning is your thing but I wish you had at least finished the water [ text | from: Will ] how's the hangover? [ text | from: Will ] alright I know how to take a hint [ text | from: Will ] you don't have to respond to any of this if you don't want to [ text | from: Will ] but you know where to find me if you want to talk [ text | from: Will ] stay safe, okay?

[ text | from: Jay ] hey, haven't seen you since the party [ text | from: Jay ] wanna meet up for lunch this week? [ text | from: Jay ] I was hoping to ask you something [ text | from: Jay ] you can pick the place if you want [ text | from: Jay ] if you're too busy it's okay, just give me a call

[ text | from: Will ] I know you hate it when he does but Jay is really worried [ text | from: Will ] text him back, please [ text | from: Will ] you can come over for a drink after if you want [ text | from: Will ] do I get any brownie points for warning you that his question is wedding related?

[ text | to: Jay ] sorry, life's been hectic [ text | to: Jay ] what's up? [ text | from: Jay ] you're cutting it close [ text | from: Jay ] I know there's less than a month until the wedding [ text | from: Jay ] but you weren't exactly getting back to me [ text | from: Jay ] wanna be a groomsman? I can swing it so your aisle partner is Kim [ text | to: Jay ] I'd be honored [ text | to: Jay ] get me all the info [ text | to: Jay ] I'll clear the entire weekend for it [ text | from: Jay ] hell yeah [ text | from: Jay ] take it easy until then, alright? [ text | from: Jay ] I don't need you looking like shit in pictures because you're pushing yourself too hard [ text | from: Jay ] I'll email you everything and make sure all the reservations get updated [ text | from: Jay ] I love you, man

[ read the rest below or on ao3 ]

Mouse had managed to avoid anyone from his previous life in Chicago for almost four months. He could ignore texts and phone calls, focus his attention on finding an apartment and a job, and pretend there was no old life to acknowledge in the first place. But there were only so many texts and calls he could ignore before they started coming from other people, too. It was probably only a matter of time before officers showed up at his door for a wellness check.

Besides, even using what disposable income he had to buy something that would get him around the city didn't completely distract him from the ache he still lived with.

He could have taken the offer to ride out to the property with Kim and Adam, meet their daughter during the drive that would take a few hours, but he was still trying to stick to his plan. He didn't want to get comfortable in that old life again, not when he would be ignoring everyone again after the wedding. He didn't even really want to go to the wedding, but it would have been cruel to deny his best friend his support, and he was hurt, not cruel. Just the weekend around everyone would be too much, and he was thankful that he'd have a hotel room to himself - a perk of not having a plus one to bring along.

Instead, he took his impulse purchase of a motorcycle on the road. He had to drive from Chicago to Wisconsin, to the cabin he'd actually been to once. It was hours of feeling the wind, listening to nothing else but the rush of air, and feeling the hum of the bike underneath him. It was great, more than enough to focus on that wasn't where he was going and what he would be there to do. It wasn't a perfect distraction, but it wasn't like he could go around hooking up with random guys all over the city. One rejection too many had stopped that habit in its tracks.

Riding alone to the property also meant that Mouse could time things so that he was a little late. Being late meant he could avoid seeing anyone when he showed up. The wedding and reception would be at the cabin, and from what he understood, Jay and Hailey would be spending their honeymoon there, too. But that meant everyone else had to stay off site, both before and after the ceremony. The details were vague, but the hotel rooms were a treat from Will, something about some reward from an FBI investigation, not that he'd asked any questions about it. If he could help it, he wouldn't talk about or to Will Halstead all weekend long.

At least, that was the plan until he met Jay in the lobby.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for the last two hours."

"I can't see my notifications when I'm on my bike. I was focusing on the road."

"Yeah. Thanks for being safe," Jay said while he stepped forward, holding out a key card with a small frown. "That doesn't change the fact that there was an issue with the booking. I told Will to add another room, and he said he did, but then the hotel was overbooked-"

"Jay, hold on." Mouse took the key while he shook his head, his helmet tucked under his arm. "What does that mean? Who am I bunking with? Please don't say Kim and Adam..."

"First of all, Mack is more than old enough to sleep through the night, but no. We already had to put Kevin with them. We're three rooms short from what Will booked."

"Okay. So who am I stuck with?"

"Will."

The answer made him pause, and he almost handed the key back so that he could go back out to his bike. He would find his own motel room down the road for the weekend, get the solitude that he needed, and have minimal interaction with the rest of the wedding party. But that would be really hard to explain to Jay. What would he even say? No, I can't room with your brother. I tried to hook up with him and he rejected me so I can't actually look him in the eye ever again, let alone be alone in a room with him.

"And it was the last room they had available, so it's not very big. Not even a kitchenette."

"Okay? I'll eat plenty at the reception, then, and order in if I need to."

"Are you sure? It's really small. There's no couch or anything."

"Jay, I have shared a bunk with you under worse circumstances. I'm sure it will be fine. We'll barely be in there anyway."

"And there's only one bed."

No.

He probably could have handled sharing a hotel room under most circumstances. Will was the best man, and Mouse had his own tight schedule with being a part of the wedding party himself. They wouldn't have any time to be alone together when they were actually awake. Falling asleep in the same room and sharing a bathroom wasn't anything more than he'd done with members of his unit overseas. He'd even done it more than once with Jay when they'd come home again. But sharing a bed with the person who had pushed him away and rejected his advances was too far, even for him.

The second to last thing he wanted to do was be stuck in a room with Will Halstead all weekend. The last thing he wanted to do was get back into the same bed as him. He wouldn't survive the weekend if it came to that - at least, he wouldn't want to survive the weekend. Mouse would be watching the man who loved him get married to someone else, and have to sleep next to the man who had rejected even a single night of his company the entire time. Every new piece of information he got about the weekend only made things so much worse.

"Jay, when have I ever had an issue sharing a bed with someone? Besides, as a groomsman, I have a duty to the universe to get laid this weekend."

-

After using the card to open the door, Mouse leaned in the doorway itself so that he could peer into the room. He faced exactly what he expected to find there.

Will was sitting in the middle of the bed, his laptop perched on his knees while he held a pencil between his teeth. There were sheets of paper and a notebook on top of the blankets, spread out so that every scribble on them could be seen. He didn't even look up when the lock clicked or the door creaked open, at least not that Mouse could tell. He was entirely caught up in what he was doing, not even lifting his gaze when he opened his jaw to drop the pencil into his lap, and it was more attractive than it should have been. It wasn't fair.

"Jay, you might just have to consider that he won't be here tonight. Mouse is a grown adult and he's allowed to be late if something came up."

"I had to stop for gas. I'm not that late, am I?"

Familiar brown eyes finally looked up at him, tearing away from the computer screen for the first time since he'd entered the room. He still hadn't entered, really, lingering half in the doorway and half in the hall. Entering the room fully was dangerous. He could be told to leave, or rejected again, or told off. Leaving in the morning was his oldest habit, but he knew it could hurt from the other side of things. He'd gotten that rant in the middle of a bar before getting a drink thrown in his face. He hurt people, and he felt bad about it, and it would be more than reasonable if Will wanted nothing to do with him.

"Thank god you're here." There was some scrambling, ruffling of papers, long legs in grey sweatpants emerging from the form on the bed so that he could stand up. "I'm trying to finish planning Jay's bachelor party, and some asshole rode in here on the loudest motorcycle I've ever heard in my life. Can you do me a favor and figure out who it is? And tell them off for me? Use some made up army story to scare them, or something, I have work to do."

With a weak smile, Mouse straightened up so he could step into the room completely. He lifted the arm that had been hidden by the doorframe, the helmet he wore when he was riding in his hand. It was half an explanation and half an apology, the words coming out slow and hesitant. "Can't I just say my bad and buy you coffee in the morning, or something?"

Will stared at him for a long moment, blinking while he took in what he saw. The last time he'd seen Mouse, he had been drunk in his bed, wearing jeans and a patterned shirt buttoned up halfway. Now, he was sober and upright, the same jeans on, a different patterned shirt, and a leather jacket that he'd bought mostly as a joke. It just happened to look good on him, so it got worn more than he'd originally intended.

"Since when do you ride a bike like that? Last I heard, Jay was calling you a stereotype and refusing to let you even pass him the keys."

Shrugging, he walked far enough into the room to let the door swing shut behind him. They were properly alone, then, for the first time in more than half a year. It felt normal, as long as he didn't think about it too hard. "I got a good deal on it. It helped that my name is still legally Gregory Gerwitz. With the number on the end. It still means something, to some people."

"At least this time, when someone called you a parent's name, it wasn't in the throes of passion. I assume."

Mouse bit his tongue at the reminder of his weekend in Atlanta, not letting any of it show on his face while he gathered the energy to respond. If he wasn't successful, Will was at least respectful enough not to acknowledge it. "The saleswoman wasn't really my type, no."

"Well, that's something, at least."

"At least." Slowly, Mouse walked across the room to put his bag down next to the desk. He hesitated for a moment before setting his helmet on top of it and taking a seat in the nearby chair. If things between them hadn't been such a mess, he would have sat down on the bed, especially when they were going to be sharing it for multiple nights. He couldn't stop to think about that for very long, or else he'd remember how long it had been since he'd done something like that - which was never. One night was his maximum, historically, and that was something that almost everyone at the wedding that weekend knew. He didn't commit, even temporarily, and he'd left his comfort zone back in Chicago.

"If you need to rest after driving all day, I can finish party planning tomorrow. You might have more ideas than I do, actually."

Mouse watched him for a long moment, his eyes following Will's hands while he gathered up papers and closed his laptop. The last time there had been one queen bed between them, they hadn't exactly shared it, and there hadn't been any part of him that actually wanted to try to navigate that situation again. It was too terrifying to think about, especially when it would be entirely reasonable to throw him out of the hotel room. It wasn't like he was paying for a single penny of the weekend. He'd only rented his tux, and he had to give it back as soon as he was back in the city.

"What?" Will met his gaze with a small smile, shaking his head. "Am I going to wake up to you ignoring my texts and calls for six months again? I don't think that would go over well with Jay. We both have a wedding to be a part of this weekend, and that's kind of hard to do when you're avoiding me, isn't it?"

Dropping his gaze to the carpet at his feet, he bit his tongue and took a slow, deep breath. "You took up a lot of that bed just sitting on it. Is there going to be any room for me? Or are you going to go down the hall and borrow someone's couch?"

"Mouse, if this is because I didn't sleep with you-"

"You didn't even want to breathe the same air as me. It was a little offensive. But you did help prove my point, so thanks for that."

"You were drunk."

"That didn't sway you when we were making out in your kitchen."

"I made a poor decision. Those are allowed every once in a while. I changed my mind when the situation changed."

"Right, my bad." Standing up, Mouse grabbed his helmet with a frown and avoided looking over toward the bed. "You were fine with it until I reminded you that I'm just your brother's whore of a best friend. And then the idea of touching me became the worst idea ever. Fuck this. I'll get a room down the street. And don't worry about planning for me at the bachelor party. I'll make sure I stay far away from you."

"Mouse, wait a minute-"

"Why?" He stopped halfway to the door again, trying to hide how his hands shook. "It isn't enough to make me feel like ass. You have to keep rubbing it in? Can't I just leave without you drawing it out? Do you really hate me that much?"

The quiet that fell between them came on suddenly, and lingered for longer than it needed to. Mouse had plenty of time to flee, and he almost did, except he felt frozen in place. His feet wouldn't move, no matter how much he tried to order them otherwise. It meant he was standing in the exact same spot when Will finally spoke up, keeping his face carefully blank. He was good at that, not showing everything he felt. Practice had made it easy.

"Because... I know what it's like. To have someone have sex with you when they don't actually want you."

"Yeah, whatever, I heard about the failed wedding to Natalie. That's not really the same thing."

"I'm not talking about Natalie. I'm talking about the boyfriend I had in college."

That was almost enough to make him drop the bag in some kind of shock. It would be rude, but that didn't mean it didn't almost happen. After hearing about girlfriends like Nina and Natalie and Hannah, the idea of Will Halstead being in any kind of relationship with another man didn't cross his mind. After the night that ended in rejection, Mouse pointedly made sure he didn't think about anything close. A college boyfriend was further out of left field than a foul home run.

"Excuse me?"

"His name was Matt." Will let out a slow breath and looked down at his hands, his voice low. It sounded as careful and controlled as Mouse was desperate for, and it made him stay quiet so that he could just listen. "It was the first time I was ever with a guy. I met him at a party, and I was... pretty drunk, actually."

Slowly, Mouse lowered his bag to the floor again and bit the inside of his cheek while he frowned. "Like... two shots, four beers, and whatever the drink was that Adam bought us a round of drunk?"

"Not quite. More like... my first two beers ever drunk. And I let him convince me to go upstairs to his room. And it was... not great. But it was my first time, right? I thought it was going to get better the more we did it. It didn't. But, hey, at least someone wanted me."

Will finally looked up at him again when he took a small step toward the bed. He wasn't ready to close the space completely, especially when there was so little space to begin with. It was too soon, even if he could read the tone of the room, and nothing between them was actually fixed. He still wanted to run, wanted to get on his bike and go all the way back to Chicago, or further, and rushing whatever this was wouldn't make that urge any easier to ignore.

"And then what? He said your mom's name in bed?"

"Actually, he proposed to my cousin." The words were said with a small smirk, and Will actually met his gaze again as evenly as ever. It almost felt like any other conversation they'd had before the night of the engagement party, easy and natural. "And the worst part is, I was still letting him fuck me every weekend. I knew he was a piece of shit who didn't want me, and I still put myself through that regularly. And I felt worse about it every time. And I didn't even enjoy it. So, no, Mouse, I don't hate you. I just don't think that anyone should ever have to feel like that."

Mouse was the one who looked away, then, staring down at the shoes on his feet with a frown. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was like his body didn't let him. His lungs didn't want to fill up all the way, and the air stopped halfway down his throat, and he was trying to hide how much it physically hurt to stand there and listen to a story that cut into him so deeply. It hurt because he'd been there, because he knew exactly why someone would give, and give, and give, even at the cost of themselves, just to feel like they were wanted for a night or two.

He moved slowly, added his helmet back to his pile of things and toeing out of his shoes. There was no way he would be getting in bed yet, not when the floor looked perfectly comfortable from where he was standing, but he didn't really want to leave. Whether Will wanted to have sex with him or not, there were very few times when he actually wanted to leave someone. That was a habit of self preservation. Leaving hurt less than being pushed out.

"I, uh... I threw up."

Looking up from what he was doing, Mouse didn't look at Will directly while he shook his head. He didn't want to think about that weekend at all, let alone talk about it. It was something that only came up in his nightmares, especially when he pulled back from his usual weekly activities like alcohol and casual sex. Still, he forced himself to continue. If Will was going to open up to him, he should do a little bit in return, and building on what he'd already let slip was the safest way to do that without ripping open even more wounds.

"In Atlanta. He got off, I didn't. So, I excused myself to the bathroom to hide, and I threw up. And then... he was done with me, so I left. I took the hottest shower the plumbing would let me have, and... I threw up again. And I didn't sleep that night."

He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets just to have something to do with them, and his fingers were shaking too much to let them stay visible. His reputation was to sleep around and not care about any of it. Countless nights had been spent in countless beds, and he had fun. He enjoyed every second of it. Thinking about it for too long didn't make him feel sick, or like he wanted to cry, or like he wished that Jay had never shown up at his apartment on that cold November night. Sex was fun, and exciting, and took him higher than any opioid ever had.

He just had to ignore how much harder he crashed back down.

Will was quiet for a long moment, seeming to wait in case he wanted to say anything else. He didn't, but he appreciated the few extra seconds to gather his thoughts. There wasn't anything else to say. The experience had lasted less than a night, and he had shared every detail of it worth forgetting. And then the quiet lasted almost too long before Will dared to finally break it.

“If you still want to leave, I can cover the room for you. You were promised a free weekend in a hotel. It seems unfair to make you pay for it just because this hotel is overbooked.”

With a weak smile that appeared no matter how hard he tried to bite it back, Mouse slowly shook his head. He could survive being a little uncomfortable for a weekend. He was there for Jay’s big day, and it would be rude to make it about himself. “That seems a little silly, now, doesn’t it? No, I’ll stay. That chair seemed pretty comfortable, and I’ve slept in worse positions. Don’t go out of your way for me.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Will stood up slowly, just enough to move his laptop and the papers that went with it to a surface that wasn’t the bed. He turned to look at Mouse, after that, confusion clear in the eyes that swept over him. “No. You’re not sleeping in the chair. I didn’t offer to share a room with you just so you could sleep in a desk chair. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mouse blinked at him and frowned at the words. Nothing had been said to him about an offer to share the tiny room. The way Jay explained it, it seemed more like they were the last two who didn’t come with a built in group of friends to bunk with.

“If I take the bed, where are you going to sleep?”

“I know you’re an only child, but there’s this thing the rest of us learned when we were three called sharing.”

He frowned at the hint of sarcasm in the words, though it probably lost a lot of its conviction when his eyes landed on the teasing smile. Mouse was reminded, ever so suddenly, that he was in a room with a Halstead. There were plenty of differences between the brothers, but a lot of their expressions were the same. That smirk, with the fond look that went with it, was not unfamiliar to him after spending so many years in Jay’s life. It was a warm thing, something that made him feel closer to home than anything had in years.

“I kind of packed to spend the weekend alone. And I had to travel light because I can’t really carry a lot on my bike.” Mouse shook his head and desperately tried to keep his frown in place. “I don’t have anything to sleep in. Just my underwear. Isn’t that gonna be a little…?”

Will, in his mostly modest shirt and sweatpants, scoffed and shook his head quickly. “Mouse, I’ve felt your dick on my thigh. I can be an adult about you taking your shirt off if you can.”

He bit down on his lip to keep from making an instinctive comment. Something about how his dick had been on Will's thigh, but it would feel even better somewhere else, probably. It wouldn't make the weekend easier if he kept deflecting the conversation away from anything of substance. Sexual jokes and suggestive comments and speaking only in innuendo hadn't actually gotten him that far with one Halstead, and he doubted it would do anything to help his relationship with this one.

"Okay. But if, at any point, you feel weird about it-"

"Mouse," Will's voice was steady and calm, everything Mouse wasn't feeling in that moment, and the tone made him feel like he couldn't look away no matter how hard he tried. "I will give you a treat, if you just lay down and go to sleep."

What kind of treat?

The question had to be bit back just like everything else, some defense mechanism turned instinct nearly stronger than him. He could behave, for a weekend, and not make things between them any weirder than they already were. He could survive three nights without sticking his foot in his mouth, surely.

"A... treat? Will, I'm not a dog."

"I'm not going to comment on that one. Take your clothes off and get comfortable."

"Wow..."

"You know what I mean." Will narrowed his eyes at him and quickly shook his head. "I have an extra pair of sweats in my bag if you want something to wear. They might be a little long, but they're soft."

Mouse opened his mouth to respond and closed it again when he realized he didn't know what he even could say in that moment. He was still stunned by the revelation that sharing the room was an intentional choice instead of a result of bad luck. The idea of getting to wear something that didn't belong to him, intentionally, instead of just grabbing the wrong shirt off the floor, had stopped all of his thoughts in their tracks. Something was going to be willingly loaned to him, something that would smell like someone else, something that would be soft. That had never happened before.

"Oh... yeah, okay."

He was too dazed to do much more than obey. He let Will get up and get into his bag, pulling out the pants and holding them up where they could be seen. Mouse really wanted to accept the offer, and he told himself it was only because he hadn’t even been in the position to swipe the wrong shirt in the morning for months. He was allowed to want proof that another person had wanted to be near to him, even if it was only for a night.

He almost felt silly, going into the small bathroom to change. Sure, he’d stripped down to his underwear, but it was only long enough to pull on the borrowed pair of pants. He felt even sillier walking out, the waistband folded down twice, because they really were long, likely because of the near half a foot Will had on him when it came to their height.

He felt like a little kid, dressed up as something he wasn’t, and he tried to keep that feeling off of his face.

Climbing into bed under the blankets, Mouse stayed as close to the edge of the mattress as he could. More space between them meant there was less of a chance that something would happen. He wanted to make sure there was as much space between them as possible, so he could leave Wisconsin at the end of the weekend without embarrassing himself further.

The blankets were very still for a moment, the only sound in the room the offset patterns of their breathing. He'd failed at preventing the awkwardness between them, that much was clear, but he didn't know how to fix it. Luckily, it seemed like he didn't have to, not when Will was going to be the one to break the silence for him.

"About that treat... you know that college boyfriend I mentioned?"

Mouse frowned a bit in confusion at the sudden shift in mood, and did his best to shrug his shoulders in the position he was in. It wasn't like it had been that long since they'd discussed it, if it had really been a discussion at all. It was all still fresh, and he almost gritted his teeth at the reminder that Matt existed at all. He'd known the Halsteads for long enough that he could barely remember a time when he didn't. If there was anyone who deserved that kind of treatment less than Will, he didn't know them. "Yeah? What about him?"

"Well..." The bed shifted with the movement of the body behind him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of it. They weren't touching, not when he was so stiff where he was on the very edge of the mattress, and he trusted that Will wouldn't force anything. That was something most people understood after knowing him for a couple hours, let alone more than a decade. "He was working at Med, for a while. They hired him on after I, you know, got fired."

"I heard about that." He stayed on his side and took a slow breath. There hadn't been any details given to him when Jay had mentioned it, just the direction to go easy on him if Will showed up at Molly's that first weekend he was back. He did, but their conversation hadn't lasted long enough for the topic to come up. In the months since, Mouse had almost forgotten about it entirely. "Not about Matt, but about the getting fired thing. I didn't hear how it happened, but that kind of thing always sucks. How are you doing with that?"

"I'm working at Med again, that's actually where this starts. I went back to working there with the condition that I would keep an eye on Matt and what he was doing. That was... actually the FBI investigation I've been helping with. I helped get evidence of him taking kickbacks from a medtech company, and all the deaths that resulted from their product because they were cutting corners and pushing it when it wasn't necessary... but. That's where Matt is, now. Rotting in some federal prison. And I got a reward check for helping to put him there."

"Good." Mouse felt himself actually relax at the idea that someone like that was getting what he deserved. It was for something unrelated to being a bad partner, but it was still comeuppance. It was still justice, in its own way. "I hope he stays there. You didn't deserve anything that he did to you. A life in prison is the absolute least he deserves after all of that."

The quiet that fell between them wasn't as tense as it had been before. When the bed shifted again, Mouse stayed relaxed and comfortable. Even if he was still worried about things potentially being awkward, they'd moved past the worst of it, and things almost felt easy again. It was progress.

"I think you hated me when we met." Will's voice was quiet, not a whisper, but low, careful. He said it like a truth he'd never admitted before, and Mouse tried to cling to it as if that changed the truth of the words. "You barely looked at me, and you didn't even shake my hand when Jay introduced us. Now, you're defending me against an ex who doesn't even pose a threat to me anymore."

"You'd moved to New York and didn't come home when Jay needed you." Mouse's tone matched Will's, steady and careful and low when the quiet of the rest of the room meant that it would carry. "You hurt my best friend. Of course I hated you. You've grown on me, since then. Even if I did still hate you, which I don't, obviously, I wouldn't wish that kind of relationship on anybody."

"Right..."

The quiet lasted so long that Mouse almost thought he'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't have been awful, laying awake in the peaceful kind of dim lighting and the hum of the air conditioner under the window. He could have laid there for hours, with his eyes closed but his mind awake, and he wouldn't have regretted a single moment of it. The bed was warm and comfortable, and the company wasn't bad. Of all the people he could have shared a room with that weekend, he didn't think there were any better options.

After a few minutes, it was clear he wasn't the only one still awake. The sound of Will's voice wasn't startling, and the gentle press of fingers to Mouse's bare back was even lighter than he expected it to be. It was brief, barely more than a brush of skin against his own, but he felt it, and he couldn't remember the last time he didn't flinch when someone was that close.

"Look, I know Jay said you're not super into touching, or anything, but..."

"What do you need?" The question was almost instinct. The Halstead family was made up of huggers, something that Mouse had learned to live with over the years. Sometimes, they needed more than he was used to giving, and he adapted to that. He liked to be useful. Being useful meant he would get to stick around longer. If that required adapting and sacrificing his comfort for a hug or two a year, then so be it.

"I kind of want to hug you, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. If you don't feel up for it, I'm not going to push."

"Will, I can handle a-"

"I don't want you to handle it, Mouse. I'm a grown adult. I can manage not getting a hug if that's not something you're able to give right now. It's been a long day. It would be completely reasonable to tell me to fuck off so you can sleep."

With a frown, Mouse shifted so he could partially hide his face in the pillow under it, as if he wasn't already turned away. His needs and wants were never taken into consideration, not when someone else needed him. That applied no matter how long his days were, or how exhausted he was, or how overwhelmed a situation made him. Will had been talking about the worst relationship he'd ever been in, and discussions like that usually called for some kind of comfort. A hug was a reasonable request. Weighing his own comfort level with that was an entirely new concept.

"Uh..." He trailed off and licked his lips when they felt dry, breathing in through his nose slowly. Once he could actually find his voice again, Mouse gave a short nod of his head. "I think I'm good. I'm a little stressed, because of the whole weekend, and the sharing the room thing, but a hug should be fine. I'll let you know if it's too much. I might not be very receptive, but... go ahead."

The touch returned to his back, feather light and careful, and Mouse had to bite down on his tongue to keep from shivering. With his eyes closed, it almost felt like most other nights he shared a bed. It wouldn’t end the same way, but the touch moved over his skin in a way that felt familiar. At least, it was just familiar enough that he didn't pull away. He wasn't entirely comfortable, but discomfort was a baseline that he had resigned himself to.

When Will's hand settled, it was the same kind of barely there touch, a palm and fingers spreading out over his bare abdomen. It was warm, like everything else, and Mouse squeezed his eyes shut tighter. When Will gently guided him back, he went willingly, until his back was pressed to the soft fabric of a well worn tee and the chest within in. He didn't breathe, he couldn't remember how, and instinct made him prepare for the touch to wander, prepare to give up whatever his partner of the night wanted.

It didn't.

Will's hand didn't move.

He just... held him there. Gently.

Since when was being held supposed to feel good?

Mouse hesitated before shifting some of his weight and, when he lifted his head to adjust how it rested on the pillow, an arm slid into the space to cushion it instead. For a few moments, he let the muscle and flesh act as a pillow without complaint, the warmth of another body so close the soothing kind of familiar that made it easy to relax. Jay had been right when he'd warned Will about Mouse being wary of touch. There were very few occasions where he allowed it at all, and it was something that his best friend only halfheartedly complained about. Usually, it meant no hugs, very few supportive pats to the back, nothing that the Halstead family did regularly. It threw off a normally regular rhythm in the lives of the people around him, but physical affection just wasn't something he was used to.

Growing up, an arm around his shoulders was an act. A hand ruffling his hair was dismissive. A kiss to his cheek when he was too young to leave his mother's side at fundraisers was something for the cameras. Physical affection wasn't real. It was just a way for his family to pretend that they cared, that they weren't capable of kicking him out of their lives the second he did something to disrupt all of their plans for his life.

This felt different.

Maybe it was because it was a Halstead. He'd never doubted that Jay cared about him, especially not when he was pulled into a hug in the middle of Molly's during his goodbye party. He knew that every supportive pat on the back or shoulder was genuine. He was fairly certain that Jay didn't know how to be fake. He'd make the same assumption about Will, but he was starting to learn that there were parts of him that no one got to see.

Shifting again, Mouse settled in closer and focused on his breathing. He wasn't uncomfortable, not really, but the feeling of someone else so close usually came with expectations. He was fighting the urge to roll over and offer himself up, to casually squirm until the sweats slid down off his hips and left more of him bare. But if there was one person in the world who didn't want him to do something like that, it was the person he was stuck with for the weekend.

"Can I ask you something?"

Will's voice was startlingly close, his breath stirring up the ends of his hair before it reached his ear. It was enough to make him tense up, and the arm already loose around him immediately gave him more room to move. He was still being held, but it would be easy to pull away when he wanted to, whenever that ended up being. Unable to find his voice right away, Mouse gave a slow nod of his head.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." Still all but whispering, Will let out a slow breath - this time very pointedly aiming away from Mouse when he did so. "I'm just curious. About Atlanta... Did you know? About his ex?"

Mouse took a deep breath at the mention of the memory, and the hand at his abdomen started to pull away slowly. He didn't know where it came from, the foreign instinct to reach down and grab onto the hand before it could get too far. He even laced their fingers together, holding on as tightly as he dared while he kept his eyes closed. "I found out at the same point of the story that you did. So, the short answer? No. I didn't know."

The hold on him got tighter again, and he could feel the pressure that came from a face being tucked into his shoulder. It was a position that was as familiar as most other things about that moment. And he was still struggling with all the things that weren't as familiar.

"You're holding on pretty tight for someone who doesn't like to be touched."

"Please don't leave me alone again."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Three

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: none, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Mia marvelled out the car window at the house. The pictures didn't do it justice. 

It was Tudor style; the white-washed daub between the timber frames, steeply pitched gables, and thatched roof made it easy to distinguish between that and other periods. Brick and pipe chimneys smoked merrily. The casement window glass gleamed with shine and a fresh coat of white paint. 

Two years of Covid and a subscription to Home and Garden Television, along with Tubi and their shows on restoration projects across the UK, apparently imparted lessons that were paying off. 

The door was kelly green with a white climbing rose clinging to the wall. The plant crossed the lintel and spanned the area above the house's main floor windows. Someone had taken great care of the garden, for flowers bloomed in veritable heaps of colour below every window before the well-kept yard spread out in a wash of lush green lawn, meticulously mowed. 

Trees surrounded the property, but she could make out more buildings farther into the grounds, though Jacob - her driver - pulled up in front of the cobblestone path that led from the raked gravel drive to the door. 

"It's bigger than I thought," Mia murmured, allowing him to get the door and her to step outside. The house was triple the size of anything she could afford back in Canada.

The fresh air was crisp and clean, and the sun peeking through the clouds was lovely. She stood and basked, eyes closed, taking it in momentarily before moving away from the car. 

She couldn't help but smile at the unique roof and the fancy thatching. After hours of devouring the shows on home restoration for period properties, she had enormous respect for the men and women who could accomplish such an incredible craft. It was truly remarkable that, after hundreds of years, such material and labour were still used today. 

Before she could touch the doorknob, already in love with the door's colour, it swung open to reveal a short, stout woman wearing a frilly apron. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes emerald green, but her cast of wrinkles bespoke her age. Still, her smile was wide and welcoming, if a little guarded. 

“Camila MacAlasdair?”

"Mia, please," she smiled and held out her hand. "Mrs. Bailey?"

"Ock, we don't shake the hands of family," she huffed, grabbing Mia's wrist and hauling her forward into a hug that should have come from someone the size of Fergus. "Yer wee gran would 'ave taken one look at ye and known ye were Callum's girl. Ye've yer da's eyes."

Mia leaned into the hug - though leaned down was more accurate. "You knew them well?"

"I've been keeping house for yer grandparents since yer da was a wee lad. It was a shame what happened with yer mum. A true shame. Would that they had lived to see ye and tell ye all this themselves." 

Grief tugged at Mia's heart for her lost family. "Yeah."

"Bah!" Mrs. Bailey set her back and lightly patted Mia's arms. "Here I am holdin' ye in the door like an eejit when yer probably puggled. Let's get ye a scran and settled 'afor I go talkin' yer ear off." 

The woman turned on her heel and set off into the house.

"Puggled?" Mia murmured to Jacob, arriving with the first of her bags. 

"She means tired," chuckled the very British Jacob. 

With the thicker accents of the Scots she'd spent the last week with, it was a shock to have Jacob greet her in a voice that reminded her of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. 

He'd been kind enough to help her decipher a few of Fergus and Ivy's more colourful sayings. 

Your head's full of mince was one of them. Your bum's out the window was another.

"Ah," Mia nodded, wondering if there was an app for deciphering Scottish - and British - English as even Jacob caused her to blink in confusion when he asked if she were 'taking the piss' and had to explain himself. 

She would see about that later. Fergus gifted her a fancy new phone with what he termed better encryption and security. It was also already attached to her household expenses and ran on the nation's phone service.

Mia stepped beyond the threshold and bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The low-beam ceiling was spectacular! 

Dark wood separated by white dab spanned the spaces between beams that looked like entire trees held up the ceiling. The wood flooring had planks that were so wide they, too, looked like they came from a whole tree. The rich dark brown of the well-loved wood made the house feel so warm.

She stepped into a kitchen right out of a fairytale. 

Expansive windows threw light across the floor, reflected off the pans hanging above the antique stove and glinted on cut crystal vases filled with sweet-smelling flowers. Pots of fresh herbs sat in the window sills. Butcher block countertops ran the length of all the cabinets and covered the island. 

An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, but a pot belly stove sat in the center, glowing a merry orange with the cheerfully burning fire. The mantel was another massive piece of timber, upon which sat a host of - what Mia assumed were - ancient kitchen utensils. They looked neat, some dull or rusted with age, while others carried a dark patina and still more shone with copper. 

Before the fire, a round rug of burgundy and cream anchored two forest green wingback chairs with a small round table between them. It was of caramel-coloured wood, the top a little scarred with age, but it held a tea tray with the most gorgeous bone china tea service Mia had ever seen. 

The white china fairly blazed against the dark backdrop, while the purple thistle and green leaves caressed the curves of the china with delicate brush strokes. 

A small but fancy chandelier hung over the sink, but recessed pot lights covered the ceiling and would likely add to the warm glow at night, though they weren't currently on.

Mrs. Bailey poked a few mounds of dough back down at the island into their bowls before covering them with sunny yellow tea towels.

"Is that bread?"

"Aye. I always make bread on Mondays." There was something in how she said it, almost as if she challenged Mia to say something contrary.

Mia toed her shoes off beside the door and drifted closer. "I always wanted to learn, but Colt said it was a waste of time."

Mrs. Bailey's sharp eyes jumped to her face and the bruises she attempted to tone down. It wasn't easy to hide, not without also covering her freckles, and Mia didn't want to do that anymore. 

"Ye've quite the keeker. I've some salve to help if ye want it."

"Did you make that too?"

Mrs. Bailey burst out laughing. "Naw! I'm a baker and a cook, alright, but I'm naw chemist."

Mia grinned. "I'd love to try the salve. I'm not sure which is worse, the black when it was fresh or the sickly yellow-green it is now."

Mrs. Bailey's brows drew together, and thunder filled her face. "The bloke who did it, he gonna be a problem?"

Mia snorted. "No. I left him in Canada, and he has no idea I'm here."

Her face cleared. "Good. Would've given 'im a good hard smack with a pan for laying hands on a lady."

Mia laughed. "No one has ever called me a lady."

"Yer lady of this house now, so expect to hear it." Again, there was tension behind the words.

Mia wasn't always the best at social cues in the fancy circles Colt aspired to. Still, after years in the foster system, not that she'd lived in any genuinely horrible situations, she'd learned to read people and the tension in their bodies reasonably well. 

Only one of her homes was a bad place where the father drank excessively. He never touched any of the kids under his care, but he often yelled, smashed things, and made threats. She learned quickly to go to her room and stay out of his way.

So when Mrs. Bailey's brows pulled together in worry, and she picked at a crusty bit of dough on the island, Mia attempted to put two and two together. 

"You know, I was thrilled when Fergus told me the house and the people associated with it were taken care of," she said, attempting to appear like she was admiring the pots hanging over the stove and not about to freak out. "I don't know the first thing about a place like this other than it's gorgeous, and I still can't believe I get to stay here. I wouldn't want people to think I would come here and make crazy changes, like fire everyone. It's not in my nature, and honestly, after the last few years, I'm just happy to have a home."

The last came out a bit of a hoarse whisper as surprise tears seared her nose and throat. 

"Ye've had a time of it, haven't ye, Mia?"

She made the mistake of glancing at Mrs. Bailey, compassion in every line of her face, and broke down in tears. 

"There now." The older woman enveloped Mia in a hug and rubbed her back. "Been a hard road, but yer here now. And we look after our own. Ye have yerself a wee greet. Then I'll show ye the house and put the tea on."

Mia sniffled. "Does tea include fresh bread?"

Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Of course!"

Mia hugged her tight. "Excellent."

~

The house was a dream. 

All the times Mia watched someone restore their period home on television, she'd sighed in longing. However, after the first time she pointed out how gorgeous the craftsmanship of those older buildings was, even the restored barns, Colt snorted in contempt and called them filthy she hadn't brought it up to him again. 

Laying on her back on a beautiful wide bed with a thick white duvet, Mia stared at the crisscrossed ceiling and let the tears come. 

She'd been so blind to Colt's faults, so desperate for love and affection after being alone most of her life that she ignored his red flags. Some, she even turned around and placed on herself as her faults. She'd accepted blame and tried to change herself when he was in the wrong.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but they didn't last long. She cried for broken dreams and lost love, but she wasn't cynical enough to believe that would be the end for her. Mia would love again, but she'd learned tough lessons and would guard her heart with higher walls next time. 

For now, she would put Colt behind her and move on with her life. It was here, it was new, and though it was a little scary, it was also exciting. 

She sat up, wiped her face, and took in the sun-drenched bedroom. A fire burned in a beautiful iron grate in a modest fireplace between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream club chairs offered a welcome seat to soak in the view or the heat. Antique dressers now held the clothing she purchased, as did the pair of wardrobes. And, of course, the same stunning floor of overly wide wooden planks felt like they'd been polished smooth with literal generations of feet. 

Off the bedroom was a bathroom straight out of a fantasy novel. A clawfoot tub sat on a riser within the confines of an alcove beneath a large octagonal window. The plank flooring gave way to large slate tiles, slightly misshapen, clearly hand-hewn. Again, it felt polished beneath Mia's feet. 

A double sink sat in a vanity that looked like an antique dresser, while the mirror above appeared hand-carved or made from the bones of old crown moulding. It was magnificent, with the small wall sconces glowing on either end. 

In virtually every room, some potted plant or vase full of flowers added greenery to the space, and her bathroom was no different. 

She wasn't sure what the leafy plant on the sink was called, but she was determined to learn how to care for them and help out. 

As Mrs. Bailey - first name Cora - showed her around through receiving rooms, drawing rooms, her late grandfather's study, the dining room, and five guest rooms, she introduced Mia to Oliva and Skye. The young women helped with the housework, general cleaning, laundry, and the like. 

Cora explained the two women had received the items shipped from Edinburgh, found the boxes with her clothing, and unpacked them into the master bedroom. 

It felt a little weird moving into what once was her grandparents' space, but Cora assured her the mattress and bedding were new, changed out when they learned she would be coming to stay. Her grandparents' clothing and the like were stored in the attic until she decided what she wanted to do with it. They had yet to bother with the rest of the house, as Mia could add or edit as she pleased. 

So far, Mia was under the impression that her grandparents had impeccable taste. The antiques were glorious and well cared for. What brick-a-brack she saw seemed well chosen and possibly of value. Clearly, her grandmother had a thing for Waterford Crystal, not that Mia blamed her. 

Her grandfather - apparently - carved and painted wooden ducks. The gorgeous creatures were lovingly displayed in his former office, riding the plate rail that ran the room's circumference. 

They had stored her art supplies, works in progress, and finished paintings there. 

Mia vaguely wondered if that was where her talent came from before Cora shooed her along, talking about how the house was fully renovated right before Covid hit, keeping the old world charm while modernizing things like the insulation, the lighting, wiring, plumbing, heat and air. 

She could only imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent modernizing the house while retaining its classic look and feel. 

The house tour ended in one parlour where another potbelly stove glowed brightly beside a burgundy velvet sofa. Skye was there with the tea tray, Olivia a step behind with another of fresh bread, preserves, and a crock of whipped butter. 

Mia intended to invite the women to stay, but Cora shooed them out, sat with a thump on the couch, and made to pour the tea, but Mia beat her to it. 

She wasn't much for superstitions, but her mother always laughed and said, 'the lady of the house poured the tea unless she wanted to end up enceinte.' Mia was eight when she finally asked what the word meant, but she never forgot the way her mother laughed and explained about the silly old wives' tale. Still, it was one of the weird things that stuck in her brain and arose at odd times. Like now, when she realized this was her house. She owned it, lock, stock, and barrel. 

It made her hyperventilate a little. 

Then, as she handed Cora a delicate tea cup, the woman bluntly asked how she got the black eye. 

It surprised Mia, but she told Cora the truth. When an ocean separated them, there was no point in lying to save face or protect Colt. But, as Cora poked a little at still raw feelings, Mia felt the fresh prickle of tears. 

It was only a week—seven days from losing everything to gaining everything. 

Cora made a displeased sound with her tongue and changed the subject, but the thunderous set of her brows said if she ever met Colt, he might become intimately acquainted with one of the cook's larger frying pans. 

She asked instead about Mia's art, and happy to talk to someone about her joy, Mia ate three slices of bread, liberally spread with butter and jam, drank two cups of really lovely tea, and nattered on about what she did and why. She thought it might bore the woman, but Cora's eyes were excitedly bright, though a bit of confusion lingered.  

"Well, ye've all the time in the world to paint now, love," Cora grinned. "Yer grandad had a woodworking shop near the barn that might suit ye if we clean it out."

The idea of it excited her when Cora encouraged her to have a walk around, but Mia returned upstairs to change first. It was roughly six degrees Celsius, and coming out of a Canadian winter when minus forty wasn't unheard of, six degrees was relatively balmy, but Scotland was damp in comparison. Mia learned quickly that you could get rained on at any time. 

Thus, she'd ended up sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to adjust to the metamorphosis her life went through in a short amount of time. 

Quiet laughter echoed in her head, and she closed her eyes as the gentle touch of a caring hand danced across her forehead. 

Loki was patiently waiting for her to unpack his things. 

Smiling, Mia looked around the room. The dresser across from the foot of her bed was long and low with a vase of fresh flowers but otherwise empty. 

It took very little time to unpack and cleanse the altar and set everything back as it should be. Once finished, Mia admired her handiwork before rummaging through the bags brought up by the maids. A few pretty crystals and a pewter bowl joined her collection, as did two silver candlesticks meant for fat pillar candles. She bought two in vanilla, two in citrus, and two with a cinnamon kick.

For now, she placed the cinnamon-scented ones in the holders, and the others remained wrapped in tissue paper she tucked into a drawer. 

Loki hummed his pleasure, the warmth of it like the summer sun glowing in her chest. 

"I'm glad you like it. Thank you for leading me here."

Here is where you belong.

Mia grinned. Yeah, she felt that, too.

Next Chapter

[madandi]

From The Times

article about the new song: "Thank you mother"

At 16 Amy Nuttall became the youngest understudy for the lead role of Christine in The Phantom of the Opera, then a year later she joined the ITV soap Emmerdale and stayed for five years. The Lancashire-born actress has since appeared in Hotel Babylon, Downton Abbey, Death in Paradise and, most recently, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. On stage she has been in My Fair Lady, Boeing-Boeing, Cabaret and Spamalot. Now 41, Nuttall is married to the actor Andrew Buchan. They live with their nine-year-old daughter and five-year-old son in Buckinghamshire.

How much is in your wallet?

No one carries cash now — everything is cashless. I did get caught short last year when my daughter lost a tooth unexpectedly. I had no money for the tooth fairy. Luckily my neighbour came to the rescue but now I always make sure I have pound coins in my wallet. Apart from that, all I have is my driver’s licence, Tesco Clubcard, Boots card, Caffè Nero stamp card and my debit card.

What credit cards do you use?

I don’t own any. When I joined Emmerdale I came home to visit my parents and for some reason I’d got myself a credit card and I was telling my dad about it and he made me get it out, got a pair of scissors and said, “Right, I want you to cut it up in front of me. Take my advice. Do not go down that road.” And it’s just stuck with me. I’ve never had one since. I think my dad knew that it would basically give me the opportunity to spend money I didn’t have, so I think it was very wise advice.

Are you a saver or a spender?

I’d love to say I’m a saver. I think I started out really well but I have become a bit of a spender. It’s mainly on my children. When I started out, aged 16, touring in The Phantom of the Opera, my first pay cheque was £500 a week, which was an absolute fortune for someone that age. I remember we were rehearsing in London before we went on tour, and I needed some new trainers, so I went to Schuh in Covent Garden. And I’ve never forgotten that feeling of buying my own trainers with my own money — and still having money in my account. After that I barely spent a penny, other than on accommodation and food. I don’t know where that girl went, as I really enjoy spending now. Back then I was very cautious. I just wish I’d had the foresight to put that money into property.

How much did you earn last year?

I’m an actress, self-employed, so it varies substantially from year to year. Sometimes I get surprise emails from my agent about royalties, saying, “Downton Abbey has been sold to this country,” or whatever, and they’re always nice little happy surprises. But generally speaking, in the last financial year — what can I tell you? — below a hundred grand, but I’m married so it all goes into one pot. So it’s not as scary because I can lean on that. People may have thought that being in Downtown Abbey meant I could put my rates up, but it’s really not the case. I always seem to land jobs where they tell you there isn’t any money in the pot. And then you find out who the lead is and you think, ah, all the money is going to that person. So it’s really not as lucrative as people perceive.

I sing too. I recently released a song called Thank You Mother, to raise money for the Brain Tumour Charity. That won’t see any personal return, but that’s fine as I want all the money to go to the charity. Overall I’m used to not knowing how things will be financially. It’s that excitement of not knowing what’s around the corner — maybe that big job with lots of money is going to turn up. That hasn’t happened yet, but you never know.

Have you ever been really hard up?

I started off well with Phantom and then Emmerdale, but when I was 22 I left and moved to London. Soon after I bought my first property in Ladbroke Grove [west London] but stupidly bought one that I was unable to sublet. I’d really stretched myself to the limit to buy it and I was relying on being in work to pay my mortgage and bills. I was the lead in Cabaret in the West End at the time, but it was a massive drop in earnings after Emmerdale and I just couldn’t cover everything, so I had to put the flat on the market. I had to move out a week after I finished Cabaret and rent a room in a flat and put all my furniture into storage. It was devastating.

Do you own a property?

I’m the joint owner of our comfortable family home in Buckinghamshire. We owned a smaller house before.

Are you better off than your parents?

I’d say my dad is probably better off than me. He recently retired but he was a criminal barrister and a judge. I have no idea how much money he earned but he was always extremely cautious and never spent money on five-star hotels. My mum was a hairdresser when they met and then did interior design for a while. Things were comfortable and my dad paid for all three of us to have a private secondary education.

Do you invest in shares?

I don’t and it’s not something I’ve ever thought about. I don’t know enough about it.

What is better for retirement, property or pension?

A bit of both. It probably changes from year to year but I think it would be safer to have a bit of property, a bit of pension.

What has been your best investment?

My house, my health and my children — not in that order.

And the worst?

I’ve not really made any great investments but I can’t think of anything that has been significantly bad either.

The most extravagant thing you’ve bought?

I bought my mum a Louis Vuitton bag because she did everything for my wedding. I just turned up on the day, which was great. I wasn’t particularly interested in doing it — she did it all. So I bought her a beautiful cream Louis Vuitton handbag, which cost about £2,000, which is an insane amount of money.

What is your money weakness?

Food, probably. I’m quite lazy, especially with the grim weather we’ve had lately. I just want to get out of the house and go to a cosy café to eat stuff I could easily make at home. My other weakness is [the homeware store] Homesense — I’m an absolute sucker for kitchen paraphernalia. Whether it’s another teapot or candle I don’t need, I’m there.

What is your financial priority?

My children. We’re a way off secondary school yet, though, so we’ll see what happens.

What would you do if you won the lottery?

First, I wouldn’t broadcast it. I’d share it among family, and I’d love to have the luxury of giving away a chunk of money to the Brain Tumour Charity. If there was any left to spoil myself, I’d love to be mortgage-free. I’d love a big house in the country with an Aga and a dog, and a holiday home in Tuscany. That would be lovely.

Do you support any charities?

I’m a patron of the Brain Tumour Charity — my mother passed away from a glioblastoma brain tumour in October, and I’ll be donating all the proceeds from Thank You Mother to them. It’s a song we played a lot at home in my mother’s final weeks. It was a very emotional time and the words in the song are very poignant to my relationship with my mum. I knew straight away that I had to do something to raise awareness of this terrible disease.

What is the most important lesson you’ve learnt about money?

That you never have enough, that it goes pretty quickly and that it doesn’t bring you true happiness. And like my parents said to me, “If you look after the pennies, the pounds will follow.” All proceeds from Thank You Mother by Amy Nuttall go to the Brain Tumour Charity

[regular-lord-reckoner]

since i have started this whole therapy/unmasking thing i have had the worst time getting myself to focus on work and get done what i need to get done

it’s like a switch has flipped and one minute all i ever do is work and try to get caught up on work and stay on top of everything to where now i just had to finish up what i didn’t get done during the week because i just...could not

i even the other day tried to set aside the first half of my day just so i could focus on work and get all the important stuff done, but by the time i finished all the work from yesterday that absolutely needed to be done plus the work for the next day it was almost 2 in the afternoon

still, i stopped and took a break, did a little work out, took a shower, all of that and naturally as i’m like, “see, now we can just take the rest of the day nice and easy and still get everything done without stressing” i see an email that’s like, “oh, btw everyone needs to be logged off by 6:45 pm today, IT needs to do something”

so then i had to scramble to get shit done instead of being able to take my time and ended up getting all stressed out again anyway

i’ve heard a lot of people say that while going through this process they take time off work for a while and i really wish that i could, but i just don’t know how, i already have to be a week ahead on all my charts just to take a week off, i can’t imagine how much work i’d have to do to take two weeks off or even a month

my last vacation was spent being so sick i could barely even walk so i really, really, really could use some kind of break i just feel like i haven’t even had a second to stop and think about it

and on top of that, i think my dad’s getting sicker

one of his doctors is really concerned about his test results lately and wants him to make these urgent appointments with his other doctors for next week so i guess we’ll see what comes of that, i’m hoping it doesn’t end up being, “yeah, so the cancer’s starting to win now, sorry” but we were already playing with borrowed time as is, i guess so i’m just mentally trying to prepare for that

and while all of this is just...happening, yesterday i’m sitting outside trying to enjoy a little sliver of free time, turn my brain off and just not have to think about anything, i hear my parents calling for the dog

and normally that’s not too unusual, sometimes when he’s outside he’ll run a little too far and they have to yell for him to come back, but he always does

this time, though, they just keep calling and calling and calling so i go downstairs to see what’s up and he’s missing. the dog is missing.

i’m trying to ask like, “where did he go missing, did you see him run off? front yard or backyard?” but nobody knows, he just took off while they were outside apparently 

so...awesome.

my mom’s been drinking and my dad’s too tired so i have to get in my car and drive up and down the road looking for him.

i’ve got my windows rolled down, squeaky toy out the window calling his name and trying to lure him to me to no avail

i go back to the house and we spend some more time yelling for him and walking all around the property for him, but nothing

we finally go back inside and something tells me to just check his crate. seems like a long shot, but just check it

so i do and you’ll never fucking believe what i found in there!!!

the dog!!!

the dog we just spent well over an hour looking for!!!!

the dog who was there the entire time just snug in his bed, all settled in for the night

i’m not sure who put him to bed, my dad swears up and down that he didn’t, but my mom clearly had no recognition of having done it, but someone did because i know it wasn’t me and he can’t get himself in there and close it on his own soooooooooooooooooooo

i think she probably did it and with everything going on (plus drinking, of course) she didn’t remember and as much as i’m sure i should be like...i dunno, mad about it or at the very least frustrated i just feel tired

i feel really, really, really fucking tired

everything is so fucking exhausting all the time and nothing ever stops and i just want it to fucking stop

i’m trying to basically re-learn myself and what my limits are for just existing which is so fucking hard because i feel like i don’t know anything anymore

but i think the cherry that really is sitting on top of this bitch ice cream sundae, though, is that i had made a post on facebook a week or so ago, i think, basically just like, ‘hey, i’m autistic’ and this guy i went to high school with messaged me because he just found out too a couple of years ago so did i want to be friends and i was like, “yeah, of course!”

how nice, y’know, someone who’s just been through this process sorta offering a helping hand and i’ve isolated myself pretty badly so sure, let’s make a friend!!

now, maybe i’m being unfair here because i’m clearly going through a lot but i just get the impression that this is exactly like every other time i get randomly approached by some guy i went to school with where it’s like, “hey, i’m having a tough time but you’re a woman so can you take care of me??’

because he keeps dropping all these hints like yeah, he used to have a girlfriend who was really good about helping him understand all this stuff and yeah, it’s just been kinda hard lately and now he’s just sending me videos of what i’m guessing is his kid and i’ve just completely tapped out at this point

again, maybe i’m being unfair and even outright mean, but it really does seem like every single time i’m going through something hard in my life here comes some fucking guy holding emotional baggage in one hand and a baby in the other going, “Hey, do you want to listen to me talk about myself at great lengths while skimming over the things you say and can you also take care of me? Thanks!!”

No!!!!!! I can’t!!!!!!

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can barely take care of me anymore and still have so much other shit on my plate and i have no idea when i’ll ever get a break from any of this, please stop!!!!!!!

i want connection with other people and i know that’s important and i know i should be trying to foster it as much as i possibly can whenever given the chance but i just feel right now like i’m curled into a ball on the floor screaming, “please stop!!!” and yet there are all of these hand continuously reaching out at me and pulling at me and i don’t know what else i can possibly give, i feel so fucking empty

i want to be able to pour back into other people and be fun and generous and kind and all of those amazing things and i have tried to approach this whole thing with a big smile and optimism that does not naturally occur anywhere in my being because i thought maybe if everyone saw how i hard i was trying while trying to be a good sport about it all that maybe the universe would finally give me a fucking break but no!!!

my therapist gave me the warning this week that as i continue on through this process that it’s likely going to get harder simply because the more relaxed and at peace i feel, the more my mind is going to want to go, “okay, hey so now that we’re in a safe place i have some things i’d like to go over with you”

we even discussed what potential sleep meds i might need to go on because of sleep terrors and shit like that, so like...i’m trying to be as brave as i possibly can be about it and put this shit off for the longest because i was so fucking scared of it and now that i’m finally doing it, it’s like, “hey, did you want more bad things? it seems like you want more bad things, is that right? and more responsibility? wait, did you want both or...y’know what, you can have both, how’s that?”

i hate it and i want it to stop

i just want a fucking break, that’s all i want

[jodilin65]

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2002 There have been no updates since the dolls left Hodgkins, Illinois at noon our time yesterday, but I’m keeping track. Tom sent me the email with the link for tracking it. It’s cool to be able to watch their progress. I can’t wait! I look so forward to getting these dolls.

Over the next few months, I’m still going to go ahead and get Mei Lin, Felicity and the Apache Woman. The only question is, do I get just one set of ballerinas and Dalene? Or all the ballerinas and no Dalene? I’m definitely going to work on getting the 3 or 4 Ashton dolls I want after getting Apache Woman. They’re so, so nice. I just wish they weren’t so expensive. They’re in between a cheap PG doll and a Bailey/Joy-type doll. It seems all their $70 - $80 dolls have stayed the same price, but the $100 dolls are now $130. Anyway, there’s another Indian woman and an Indian child I’d like. Also, a ballerina and a bride doll that’s really nice.

Another thing about Ashton is that I always got what I saw, but some of PG’s dolls didn’t quite look as good in person, except for one of them, which actually looked better.

I was thinking about all the shit the Indians and blacks went through years and years ago, and while they both got shit on big time, the Indians sure did handle it better. They moved on and didn’t harbor so much anger over the years as the black bums did. They didn’t join gangs, start riots, make a life of welfare, or cry racism when they’d have problems with others. Using race as a crutch for them is as rare as an infertile Mexican.

It just dawned on me that Scot has dropped one of his lines. He’s always had 3 lines. The one where he asks if I’m up to date on my payments, the one where he either asks or tells me how much time I have left, then the one where he says he’ll try to catch me at the house. Well, he hasn’t said that last one lately. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see. I just hate the forced ass-kissing routine I gotta go through. If I had to kiss his ass for a doll, that’d be one thing, but to kiss his ass over this shit is another.

Later…

Still no updates after yesterday’s Illinois departure. I don’t know if the truck’s been moving or not since, but it better be moving somewhat if they want to make the scheduled delivery date of Monday the 4th. Tom says they’re pretty reliable, but we’ll see. You know how it is when I get dolls. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if one of the trucks broke down, a driver got ill, etc. There shouldn’t be any problem finding the house, though, cuz UPS does come out here regularly and they should have maps. With the furniture people, it was different. Furniture doesn’t come out here as often as packages do.

Even Jumbo has a missing leg, I just noticed. He’s missing a leg and Crabby’s missing a claw. I wonder what Hermy’s missing? I haven’t seen much of that one. It’s a pretty shy crab. They haven’t been very active, either. Hopefully, they’ll liven up a bit with just another day or two of adjusting to their new home.

It’s a lovely day for open windows. The front of the house is slightly warm and the back is slightly cool.

I forgot to mention that about a week ago I chased a little black dog and a medium black dog onto next door’s land. Tom says they weren’t theirs and that they have two little dogs which are so afraid of the world, they’d never leave their land, but I’m sure they were theirs. Tom’s always quick to defend a neighbor anyway.

It’s awfully hypocritical of them to let their dogs run around loose on other people’s property after they were so worried that it might’ve been our dogs that killed their chickens when we first moved in. What if we or someone else had a chicken coop? Would it be okay for their dogs to waltz onto someone else’s land and kill any animals they might have?

It still really bothers me that I can’t make dolls, though it doesn’t surprise me. Since when have I ever had control over my own life anyway? I tell myself that being bored is better than being in jail, but you know, being bored and being in jail shouldn’t be my only two choices!

Just changed the betta’s water.

The only new rule/demand Scot informed us of was that he wants his Stanfield/Maricopa people to report on the first and third Wednesdays of each month, and his Casa Grande people to report on the second and fourth Wednesdays, so there goes our choice as to which Wednesday we see him. This was when I muttered about it being a shame that at $40 a month, we can’t have some say as to what goes on, and oh, it felt so good to say that! I know Scot heard me too, even though he didn’t comment. In fact, he didn’t even mention how much time I have left! Or about seeing me at home. Just that we still have two months before we switch over to Casa Grande as if that’s any real consolation.

After we left, Tom pointed out that the good in us going on those set weeks is that we won’t have to wait in line forever. No, but I’ll still have to endure the humiliation between January and March. In fact, I’m so sure of it that I didn’t bother to report today with a full bladder.

He gave us next year’s schedule. It was nice reading the part where those reporting on certain dates in November and December had to report before noon as the office was to close early, knowing I’d be done before then. Done with these freeloaders for good! I’m gonna do everything they told me not to do, too. I’m not going to do drugs, of course, but I’m gonna get a gun and a 4-pack of wine coolers. I’m not going to vote, though, cuz I never cared to anyway. Nor will I ever do jury duty.

Then, when God replaces the freeloaders with other neighbors tormenting us, we’ll handle it right this time by either sitting back and taking it or getting the fuck out of here.

I still have to remind myself that what happened to me wasn’t my fault as far as the freeloaders/court goes. Just like a rape victim who knows it’s not her fault, she still tends to blame herself – if only I hadn’t worn this, if only I hadn’t said this, etc. Well, I have to remind myself that I never did anything to deserve this shit other than making a reasonable complaint and being Jewish.

Of course, Scot didn’t test me yet he had all the opportunity in the world in which to do so. The judge wasn’t even there, so the bathroom, which is off the judge’s office, was totally available. Why should he test me, though, when he knows he can just wait to do it when someone can gawk at me? The question then will be, will that really be the last one, or will he take advantage of the female eyes he’ll have handy in Casa Grande and do more tests? I guess I can believe it’ll be my last one, though, since my tests are always clean and since he’s kept his word thus far about the tests getting less frequent over time as they kept coming back clean. It wouldn’t make sense to have a year in between clean tests, then do one just a few months later. Tom doesn’t think the test will be in January, though. He thinks it’ll be more like February or March. I hope it is February or March because then there’ll be less time to do more tests if he does get it in mind to go back on his word and do so, but at the same time, I just want to get it over with!

I’d prefer to snap my fingers and have it be this time next year, but I’d settle for April. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to survive the next year! I just want this shit over with once and for all! I just want to get on with my life! I’ve been wanting to get on with it, yet no one will let me. How can I ever move on if these people are going to have a hold on me and be allowed to victimize me year after year? The only difference is that they’ve been victimizing me through the courts for the last few years.

After Scot’s and before Circle K, we stopped at the PO. As expected, Tasha wasn’t in, but the sewing machine was. I told him there’d be no problem with a non-doll-related package. Tom’s going to call PG if Tasha’s not in by Monday. I am so fed up with them! I still don’t get why they can’t just send me the dolls we order. Why does it always have to be such a big deal for them?

I’m going to wait till Tom’s awake and available to go over the new sewing machine with me. It’s so small and lightweight! Only the big one with the adapter (though it can also use batteries) and other accessories came today. The palm-size portable one is still on its way. I still think it would be best if I had his mother available to walk me through my first few outfits. It’d be quicker and easier to have an expert on hand to guide me through the beginning.

Tom’s on vacation next week, then again in mid-December. That’s when I’ll be going to the doctor for prescription refills and ear referrals. I’m still not bothering with a pap, since I trust my instinct. I’m sure that intuition would tell me if something was wrong with my female parts and I’d probably have some symptoms, too.

I had to snort up a while ago. Oh, well. I should still need to see the doctor only every other year if I go 8 months in between the 3 referrals unless a new problem arises. The nasal sprays he gives me could easily last two years at the rate I’ve been taking them. If my inhalers run out before then, I can always get something over the counter.

Of course, there’s always the possibility that female or health problems of some kind are going to be my next curse since it wouldn’t be too convenient for God to bring neighborly trouble to a house sitting on a 10-acre lot that’ll be fenced-in by then. Anything to get me out of the house regularly. I’ve always got to have appointments.

Another good thing to look forward to next year, besides expunging the freeloaders from our lives forever, is going to Kingman! I hope the doll selection there is as good as I think it is. It should be several times bigger than JBS’s Mesa store. We decided to stop by there with the truck we hope to have by then on our way to Laughlin. We haven’t been to Laughlin since late ’96.

Later…

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I can’t believe what I just saw out the window! Little Ratsy’s still alive! I’m absolutely astounded since she’s been out there a month. Maybe she’s survived because it’s cooler and the snakes are hibernating. Anyway, she’d never let me pick her up any more than she would when she was in here, but I saw her running to get some bread I threw out, along with some birds and bunnies. I put the water bowl back out there and threw out some salad and seeds. Then I got a damn good lizard picture. I just can’t believe a bird hasn’t gotten her. It’d be awesome if she got pregnant by some wild rat and if we could have a bunch of wild Fancy rats running around the land, but I don’t know about that one. She looks pretty healthy, though.

Anyway, I redid the letter Teddy Bear’s sure to never receive, but I’ll send it in any way. I shortened it a bit and restructured some of it. It’s a page and a half. I’ll make sure to ask Mary to ditch the first one so she doesn’t get the two confused if TB ever did show up, though I dated it.

I’m on days now and fell asleep in the early evening last night. Tom said that afterward, he could hear the crabs bustling about.

He also said he wouldn’t expect to see an update on Victoria and Karen’s progress till Saturday when they should be in Phoenix by then.

He picked up weather stripping for the front door, quarter-round trim for the skylight, and numbers for the front corner of the house by where we drive in. This should hopefully make it even easier for UPS, though UPS has been out here before with no problem.

It seems our voice messaging was scrambled for a bit yesterday. We got a couple of messages left for someone else, and they no doubt got the messages I left for Tom cuz he didn’t get them. It seems to be okay now.

Dear Teddy Bear,

Hi there. How are you? I hope you’re as well as can be. I’m sending this to Mary to give you if you ever return to Estrella while she’s still there. I didn’t want to risk sending another letter to you and getting you in trouble.

I’d like to think that the reason I never heard from you is that you didn’t get my letter and you lost the number that I gave you in jail, but I think it’s safe to assume you probably did get my letter. First of all, I want you to know I have absolutely no hard feelings towards you at all, but Teddy Bear, you have no idea how shocked and hurt I was to be ignored by you! After all, you seemed so for real, so sincere. I’d hate to think I was just one big joke to you all along. A simple little phone call or letter would’ve been nice, to let me know you wouldn’t be seeing me, but now I’m left to forever wonder what happened. Not only that, but I worked really hard at trying to breed you the mice you said you liked, so not hearing from you made me feel rather unappreciated.

Teddy Bear, you really had quite an impact on me! Not even I realized it at first. You see Teddy Bear, it wasn’t just about attraction. I fell in love with you. You may be wondering how this could’ve happened since I barely knew you, but I know how I felt. I still do too, and maybe I always will. I know I could never forget you, that’s for sure. I believe one knows when they love someone and when they don’t and there was no denying how I felt for you. You really don’t need to know someone forever or like a book in order to love them, trust me. Yeah, ich liebe dich, Teddy Bear, and I know what that means, even though Ida tried to confuse me at first and tell me it meant ‘how are you.’

I also knew you could never love me back and that I couldn’t just throw away 8 years of marriage, so if that’s the reason you decided not to see me (because I’m married or living so far away), or because you met someone else, I understand and accept this, but again, it would’ve been nice if you could’ve at least let me know. Or at least acknowledged my letter and simply told me you couldn’t make it.

I looked so, so forward to seeing you as often as possible and getting to know you. I had so much to tell and show you. I wanted to share my book with you, do email back and forth, learn your first name, what your life was like, etc,

What happened, Teddy Bear??? Did you meet someone along the way? Did you decide I live too far away to bother with? Is it me? Did I do or say something to make you hate me? It’d mean a lot to me if you could call or write and let me know what happened, no matter what the reason may be. I will accept and respect whatever it is, which is all I can do anyway, then we could continue on our separate ways. If you met someone, I hope she treats you well. You deserve the best. You’re a good person and I want you to be happy. It would deeply sadden me if I knew you weren’t. I’m by far a people person, Teddy Bear. I don’t take to just anyone and open up to just anyone. I trusted you. You were a very smart, easy-going person with a great sense of humor. How could anyone not love you? If it’s something I said or did that may’ve either offended you or got you in trouble, I am so very, very sorry and this was certainly not my intention.

Mary was the one who told me she heard you were at Madison. She contacted me about a month after my release, asking if I’d help her write a book, though I may have already told you this, then we just unexpectedly became pen pals from there. Don’t worry, no one else knows about this but Tom.

I believe things happen for a reason, and in the end, I thought you were the main reason I was meant to be there, but no, the main reason was that I lodged a city complaint against the wrong person with the wrong connections and because I was Jewish. They were everything they accused me of being – hateful, vindictive bigots. They turned it into a racial issue and cried racism all because of my complaint and because they were Muslims and Muslims often hate Jews. In case you care to know the story – Tom and I had a house in Phoenix. The people next door to us moved out, the city took ownership of the house, then a black/Muslim family moved in on Section 8. Only the woman and her kid were supposed to live there, but she had her boyfriend living there too, and a dog, also not allowed. I know the rules, Teddy Bear, because I was in projects myself back east back when I was getting SSI and was on disability because of my ear. I also have ADHD which means I get hyper and have trouble sleeping/concentrating.

So, in they moved in ‘96 and then the trouble began – non-stop cars coming and going at all hours of the day, music blaring so loud that the stuff on our furniture practically vibrated, trash in our yard, sexual notes in our mailbox slot. Like a fool, I never saved the notes that we received after politely asking them to tone it down. I figured they were stupid, childish notes and I wasn’t going to waste my time getting hot and bothered by them. I just wanted to ignore them, though most of the time they wouldn’t let me.

But we were getting fed up with the noise. We considered calling the cops but decided not to because we knew the cops couldn’t be there to monitor them 24/7 and that as soon as the cops left they’d be up to the same old shit. We needed to contact someone with a little more leverage than that, so we sent a letter to the city. It helped for a while and the boyfriend moved out and the barking dog disappeared. After a few months of peace and them not making their business ours and invading our house with the sound of their every move, they were back at it again, so we sent another city letter. This caused them to be evicted which wasn’t our intention. We just wanted them to shut up and leave us alone! But they wouldn’t, so they had to go. We wanted to move too, because of my asthma and because we wanted out of the city, but weren’t in a position to do so till a few months after they moved in ’99.

Meanwhile, when they were harassing us, I wanted to settle things with my fists, that’s how mad I was, but Tom made me promise I wouldn’t. So in exchange, I was going to send them “a piece of my mind” and go the non-violent way. I’ve been keeping journals since ’87 and I sent them parts of it, which of course were non-racial and non-threatening. Meanwhile, it would turn out that the woman would have a cop friend, also a bigot, who spited against me on her behalf by typing up a threatening letter. Then, when he got me in to interrogate me, he asked, “Have you seen this?” Then he handed me the letter, and not knowing any better, I took hold of it. Well, figure it out, Teddy Bear. That’s how he got my prints on it.

I must’ve had you confused at first, what with how I bitching about others hitting on me just to turn around and go flirting with you like I did! I’d have told you sooner than I did that I had a crush on you, but I was afraid to. It’s not that I was shy or ashamed for we can’t help how we feel. It’s just that I didn’t know what your reaction would be and if I remember correctly, you were the one with the can of mace, not me. But I have no qualms about telling you – I adored all 5 feet 10 inches of you. You were so vibrant, so full of life and energy. I loved your eyes, too. There was just something about them and the sound of your voice, and okay, I’ll admit you looked just fine in uniform!

So you can just imagine how cursed I feel what with being thrown in jail for something I didn’t do, then to have met and fallen for you only to end up never hearing from you! It really makes a person feel like something up there hates them, and furthermore, even if I was 100% guilty, no one should go to jail for something they wrote, and besides, actions speak louder than words. I can see if it was to a kid or many mailings, but guilty or innocent, I never should’ve been there and we never should’ve met, but we did meet. I wonder, Teddy Bear, do you ever think of me? Do you ever remember me from time to time? Remember things like our “dead friends” misunderstanding?

Anyway, I do hope to hear from you someday. I don’t know, maybe now’s not a good time for you and maybe you can call me sometime in the future, though sooner would be better. Or maybe you can tell Mary and she can tell me if you’d prefer not to call or write. I hope this letter, if you ever get it, doesn’t piss you off or make you uncomfortable in any way. I just wish I could understand what happened, that’s all. I’ll enclose my email, number and address. If I hear from you, great. If not, I wish you nothing but the best, my sweet Teddy Bear, and I promise I’ll never forget you. I hope you will never forget me, either. I’ll never stop wondering what happened if I don’t hear from you and am very sorry things have turned out the way they have. I certainly won’t count on it, but I do hope to hear from you one day.

Love Always, Dawn

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2002 Just one more year with the freeloaders, just one more. At first I started to fall into my usual thought process, but what if they and or the state prolong things? What if they do something else?

But then I said, no, next year is going to be it no matter what cuz I’m going to make it be it, even if they don’t want it to be it. One year from today will be the day I take my life back and when no one but Jodi says what happens to her. It won’t mean that I’ll be able to decide I want a million dollars and make it suddenly appear. It won’t mean that I’ll be able to jump to the moon if I suddenly desire to. It simply means that no one will ever again tell me where to go, what to do or how to live as far as a reasonable, general, everyday kind of way goes. I can’t fight fate and I can’t stop God from stopping me from doing some of the things I’d like to do in life, but you know what I mean.

Meanwhile, I gotta wonder – what kind of bombshell will Scot drop on me this Friday? Will I have to hear about the classes? Or just reminded of how much time I have left? The Casa Grande stress still hasn’t returned, but I don’t yet know why. Maybe it’s simply because I know that as long as I’m not going to wash my hands clean of this bullshit and walk away, I’m going to have to face the humiliation.

I’m just so sick of getting shit on by people in general! One of these days I’m going to surprise them and fling the shit right back in their faces!

I should’ve known something was up when Paul kept referring to the journals as “letters.” When we were all calling them letters I automatically assumed we were doing so cuz that’s a generic, overall term for sent mail. I thought it went without saying that we were all talking about the journals and not this damn letter, even though we were referring to them as letters.

Speaking of letters, I got 2 letters from Mary yesterday and was heartbroken over Todd’s dumping on her. She apparently got a letter from Todd’s “girlfriend.” She sent the letter to Todd with nothing else and then took down his pictures. I was also pissed. You could say he’s another one I could add to my list that I wouldn’t mind having 5 minutes alone with.

Anyway, I am so, so sorry for her, and yes, I know the pain of a broken heart. Teddy Bear taught me all too well, I’m afraid, but I can just imagine that the pain I went through on account of being blown off by her was nothing compared to what she went through. Teddy Bear and I didn’t really have a chance to get much started, but she and Todd go way back, so I can see how hurt she must be. For whatever it’s worth, I told her, she’ll get used to it with age. Losing friends/lovers does get easier with time. I wish there was something I could say/do to ease her pain, but unfortunately, it’s just going to have to run its own course and work itself out in its own time, and it will. Time really does heal all wounds, and while she may never forget Todd anymore than I’ll ever forget Teddy Bear, it will get easier to deal with. Time’s her best friend right now. She’s also too young to be closing doors on the many different opportunities that may present themselves once she’s free. I also wouldn’t rule out the possibility of being with a woman someday, but if it’s not her cup of tea, it’s not her cup of tea. My point was – keep an open mind. I also told her that anytime she needs a shoulder to cry on, she’s very welcome to use mine. There’ll be times when I’ll be crying on her shoulder, too!

Damn that bastard for wasting 3 stamps of mine for those convent excerpts she wanted to send to him!

This is when I wonder how she can believe and trust in God. How could he let this happen to her on top of everything else she’s been through? And doesn’t she feel ignored when she prays? She’s into yoga now which seems to help a lot more than anything, from what she’s told me. I’m sure writing and listening to music helps, too.

When I first pulled out what she enclosed in her letter, I was like, why is she sending me, of all people, religious stuff? Well, it’s based on religion, but it’s not. It’s actually a book of inspirational poems and she dedicated a really nice friendship poem to me, telling me she loves me and appreciates what I do for her. Yeah, if there’s one person who would never take what I do for granted, it’s definitely her. I know she cares and is as grateful as I am to her for being my friend, my pen pal, and for doing me favors like investigating a certain someone we both know. In fact, I think I’m going to redo that certain someone’s letter and shorten it a bit, even if that certain someone will probably never get it.

I wonder if Pérez will ever return so she can find out for sure whether or not she got my regular mail.

In email news, she asked me to send a few pages to her friend Shirley, but I just attached the whole book file. I thought it crashed at one point and I ended up sending it twice.

She said she’s had a miserable time going to court and all for nothing. There’ll be nothing else going on till January, either. As I told her, I’ve heard that going to court is a miserable ordeal. And how asinine it is to be pulled 6-7 hours before court! I’m glad I never had to do that. I had enough shit to go through as it was.

The prairie dogs are completely gone now. I haven’t seen any. Haven’t heard any hunters on weekends, either. Just during the Labor Day weekend and the weekend after that. There were a few sonic booms yesterday.

I decided what weight I want to get down to next year which is 105. If I lost 10 pounds and got down to 115, it’d make a huge difference overall at my height, but it’d make even more of a difference in the face, neck and chest if I got to 105. It won’t be easy, but unless I change my mind and decide to stay as I am between now and after New Year’s, I’ll do it.

My hair is now to the crack of my ass. Maybe ¼ inch away still. It’s such a bitch. If it were thin and straight, that’d be one thing, but I get so sick of it that I think about cutting it to my shoulders. I know I will within the next few years for sure.

The day I sent out Paula’s letter, which was Monday, she left a message by phone saying she didn’t know what was going on, she wasn’t receiving email or regular mail from me. Also, to let her know if Justin’s doing anything wrong.

What he’s doing wrong is he’s not notifying her when I send an email. The kid’s a nut. I know he can’t help the people he was born from or his environment, but the kid’s a flat-out nut and a half, destined to spend his life in and out of jail. At first I wasn’t going to send any email about it, not sure if it was the right thing to do, but you know, I’m sick of doing right when all it does is get me nowhere. So I sent him a quick message letting him know that it’s a damn shame that he’s too lazy to let his mother know when she’s got mail.

Anyway, I’ll send her a regular letter every once in a while, but I really would’ve preferred to keep in touch by email to save a little money. If Paula could listen to one thing I tell her, then she might’ve remembered that I said I’d be sending email on the first of each month so she could look for it then.

Anyway, I started to write about this earlier but never did. Tom and I were talking about what we’d do if we suddenly had limited time. Well, I’ll tell you one thing for sure and that’s that if I suddenly knew I only had a year or two to live and that there was nothing I could do about it, I’d write the biggest “fuck you” letters the world’s ever seen to everyone responsible for landing me in jail and where I am today! Then the media could say I was prejudiced towards law enforcement people as well, not that that’d be a lie.

Some lady was giving away work shirts and a coupon for a different satellite provider that he wants to switch to. His plans for tuners, satellites, computers, etc., confuse the hell out of me. He says it’ll be easy to use, though, and a worthy investment.

The crazy rat really likes the fleece bed. She tore the seam that joins the outer, decorative material to the fleece and she burrows between the two.

I’m still far from updated. I haven’t even gotten to the printer and crabs yet. The printer’s great. I get a lot of paper jams where it doesn’t feed all the way through, but if it’ll do thousands of pages at a fraction of the cost, then great. I can’t believe how fast it is! The thing prints like 8 pages a minute, whereas the other one does one page in two minutes. You can kind of feel the print too, which is slightly raised, cuz it’s a powder that’s melted onto the paper and not ink that becomes one with the paper. So, I hope Mary doesn’t mind all-black text.

Yesterday morning we left at 8:00 and headed for PetSmart in Chandler. They had a good selection of crabs there. Like nearly a dozen. I picked out 3. One’s a jumbo, one’s average, and one’s small. I sent pictures to both Marys. I know Tom’s Mary won’t like them, but I don’t know about my Mary. She hates snakes, but she has no problem with rats, so it could go either way when it comes to them. I’ll just wait to hear from her about it. I’ll powder up a letter with the pics today. I better not get them back, either!

Jumbo’s the shyest. Hermy, the smallest one, is sort of shy. Crabby’s my favorite and the bravest, too. I feel sorry for her/him too, as it’s missing its large claw as well as a digit at the end of an outer leg. Must’ve been in a fight.

I have them in a little terrarium in the kitchen. (we have so much counter space in here that not even this tank leaves us short on space!) The tank’s a foot tall and almost two feet wide. It’s probably about a foot deep, too. In it, I have really nice colorful gravel that has even more colors than the fish have, but I think it was a waste, cuz I think they like the paper pellets better. They can burrow in it and dig through it easier. It’ll also absorb their pee. Another dumb buy was the two small plastic balls I got them. When I put them in them, they don’t seem to move much. I’d be better off letting them walk around loose just as long as I kept an eye on them. The last dumb buy I made was the spare shells. They’re way too big for them, and the more I think about it, the more I doubt they’ll ever change shells. These are Caribbean crabs and they change shells much less than Ecuadorian crabs.

The smart thing I bought and set up for them, besides food, of course, was a shallow plastic heavyweight bowl. If the bowl’s too deep, the crabs will drown. I also bought a sponge that you place in the middle of the bowl to provide a little bit of moisture. That way their gills won’t dry out. The reason they’re in the kitchen is that I’ll have to change the water bowl and dampen the sponge every day.

I took a strip of squared wire and placed that in there for them to climb on, as well as a wheel without its base. I made it stationary by covering the bottom of it with gravel. This way they can have things to climb on.

Tom made some measurements and determined that our fish tank is a 20-gallon and not a 15-gallon tank. We lost another fish, too. The green glass fish died.

For the fish, we got some fake neon plants for the babies to hide in and hopefully survive too, but now I’m not so sure we’re going to have any babies. Guppies have them every 3 weeks.

They had a huge selection of fish, but no glass fish. The neon tetras Tom was telling me about were just so-so. I like the bigger fish better, too.

Tom checked online and so far there’s been no problem with our order for Victoria and Karen. They had this really cool UPS tracking site that lets you track your packages. They processed the order at 5 PM on the 29th. They packaged it at 7:30. It left New York at 10:15, and by 2 AM they were in transit in Illinois. They say they’ll be here Monday the 4th.

Now, why can’t PG and Ashton be this fast? I’ll still be completely blown away if they really do get here that fast and without a problem. If it’s dolls, there’s always a problem unless they take forever anyway like Ashton does.

Speaking of Ashton, they must be psychic and knew I’d soon be ordering from them cuz I just got a catalog from them. I decided to dump Dalene and the PG fairies as soon as I saw this new Indian doll they have. She’s very beautiful and very realistic and she’s in a rather unique pose, too. She sort of leans against a carved rock base with one knee bent and the other straight for most of her weight to rest on. I just wish she wasn’t $130! She’s referred to as The Legend of the Apache Teardrop. Tom told me the story behind the legend. I think I’ll just call her Apache Woman. She’s 16” posed, so standing straight up, she’d probably be about 20”.

So, it looks like I’ll be getting the little ballerinas, Apache Woman, Mei Li and Felicity. If I don’t like the ballerinas, I’ll cancel the subscription and put Dalene back on the list. I’d still like to have the PG fairies eventually, though I don’t have to. They’re nice, but I can live without them. Besides, I’m sick of PG’s stupidity. I was supposed to get Tasha a month ago. A month ago! Why should it take a whole month to send a doll?

Guess you could say I’ve done enough writing, so I think I’ll go read now.

Later…

I wonder where Victoria and Karen are now. Well, I’ll find out when Tom gets up. He said he’d look before leaving for work.

Another year with the freeloaders and with being forced to bite my tongue, kiss ass, and basically be everything I’m not. I swear to God, though, after this next year, if I’ve got something to say I’ll say it, and no one, in any way shape or form will ever order me around again. I’m a little too old to be taking “orders” from anyone anyway, I would think. I’ll never again be anyone’s slave. No one will stop me from being myself and saying what I have to say within reasonable expectations. I’ve always been against ass-kissing. I’ve always felt it was degrading to the human spirit and it is. Oh, how bad I wanted to say, “I’m your client, you work for me, my $40 a month goes towards your pay, and therefore, I think I should be entitled to have some say in how often I see you.” Who knows, I still might speak my mind on the issue if he brings it up, but I’m sick of being made to feel like a child who has to seek the approval of an adult so she doesn’t get hit with any more abuse. Having to kiss ass like this really is a very degrading experience. I wouldn’t say just anything, anywhere, to just anyone anyway, but this is a little extreme. How is it that so many people have had such a hold on me throughout my life? It’s been nearly as bad as an adult as it was when I was a child for real! And how is it that I couldn’t put a hold on anyone myself if I tried? Putting a hold on someone isn’t want I want, though, I just want them to let go of me!

It still blows my mind, and it no doubt always will, how so little could turn into so much. How could this have gotten as far as it has and for so long?!?! All I wanted was for them to shut up. That’s all I wanted. Just for them to keep their music for their ears only. It’s like my whole life is either kissing ass or suffering the consequences for trying to do/achieve what’s right, and that’s a decision I’ll be faced with having to make as soon as this shit’s over. Do we let the next set of neighbors blast their music, hang out on our land or trash it? Or do we risk going to jail for complaining about it? There won’t be an in-between. There’ll be no “fighting back” and winning. At least they won’t be able to terrorize us from just 3’ away!

My life is just about in the hands of the freeloaders at the moment as it’s coming up on 10:00. That is if Scot comes. If he doesn’t show up today or tomorrow, that’ll be 12 glorious weeks without him here. It’d be a bummer if he did, not just for obvious reasons, but because that’d mean he’s still only skipping one month between drop-ins. His last visit was on August 8th.

You’d think it’d be so easy being on standard probation, just putting the $40 in the mail and showing up twice a month, but it’s not. It’s really not. I have the stress of home visits waking me up when I’m on nights, I always have to worry about some new demand or inconvenience coming up, and now I’ve got the threat of being degraded and humiliated over my head with a much longer drive. The freeloaders don’t just punish me, they punish him, too. He needs to sleep during the day, not be on the road for two hours.

Once again, I wasn’t kidding when I said I knew God would punish us for moving. He never approved of or wanted me to leave the city and that’s part of why I kept getting dragged back into it to the hotels and then jail. As much as I want to get out of here, I can’t help but wonder what the price for doing so would be. Nothing would happen if we moved to a city, but I’m not moving back to a city. Not on my own, not by force. I have come to completely despise cities! I’d rather the horseshit smell than to be back with all those freeloaders who would only live to make my life miserable.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2002 I’ve been writing for 15 years as of today!

I just finished a clip that was supposedly of Mary’s, yet it had a little twist in it. In it, I was her celly and I made her gifts that were seized. I made her a doll out of cotton and linen and someone else made her a dog figurine out of cotton and soup and an address book out of a deck of playing cards. Before this, she talked to Todd’s parents about her court fears. Todd’s father encouraged her to keep her chin up. Anyway, I would cry in her arms for real if they took gifts I made her, and I’m sure she would be looking at the bright side of it while I was bitching about how unfair it all was.

I’m a bit confused, though, cuz I thought Todd’s family was abusive to him yet she made it sound otherwise. If they feel like real family to her, I’m glad. A family isn’t those who are blood-related to you. A family is those who love and accept you as you are without violence.

She also had me confused when she and Gary were talking about “getting those bastards.” Bastards as in the plural sense? I thought only Justin was charged with Gretchen’s murder. And what did she mean by Justin pulling stunts to scare her? How the hell could he do that from where he is?

So Mena’s one of her favorites? I’m surprised. A few others said they liked her but I never did. Reminded me too much of my mother. I always got the feeling that she wasn’t overly fond of me either. I don’t know, maybe she was brainwashed by the media.

So a lot of DOs are quitting cuz of the conditions? Well, good for them. Yeah, Joe’s a real little shit, that’s for sure. And what makes it even scarier is that he could decide to one day up and cut out all meals and have only those who can afford to buy food eat, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing anyone could do about it. The man’s got the power of Hitler. Of God, it seems. I’m as shocked that he’s still alive as I am that Saddam Insane is. I mean, don’t people like him, the media, the pigs, the public pretenders, and the judges ever get a little nervous what with the way they play with people’s lives as if they were playing with paper dolls? I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do any of those jobs, and certainly not in the manner that most of them do them. I wouldn’t want anyone shooting me on my doorstep. I’d always be looking over my shoulder in fear if I were pushing people around like that. And Arpaio’s full of shit to say that that food is donated. It’s not donated. First of all, no one wants to donate food to a bunch of convicts, and if it’s donated, then why did he say he was going to cut from 3 meals to 2 to save money? The contradicting bastard put his foot in his mouth and I don’t care who reads my opinions of him. I wouldn’t say anything that I wouldn’t say to his face. He cut the meals simply cuz he’s cheap, even if the food costs next to nothing in the first place, and cuz he’s high on power and control.

And as far as her mom saying God’s gonna deal with that man – oh, how I wish! I wish, but sadly, this seems to be the type God only goes out of his way to protect, from what I’ve seen. If God “dealt” with those who wronged others, the freeloaders would be doing time and my folks would be in funny farms. In other words, I really think he does have a better chance of getting shot than having God deal with him.

I agree with her mom about him needing to be thrown in his own cell, but you know what? He’s such an arrogant little fuck that he’d say, “But this is right. This is what someone who commits crimes should get, including me if I were a criminal. It’s all okay and correct. If you don’t like it, don’t do the crime.”

We had our first fish casualty. One of the guppies died. It was weird too, cuz it was lying on the bottom. I thought dead fish were supposed to float.

I was like, “Oh please!” when I read back on a reference letter Tom wrote for the courts prior to my sentencing. I was like, “Oh my God. He’s made it sound like I’m totally, totally guilty, saying that I’m not perfect, this isn’t the norm for me, I let anger bubble up due to the moving stress, etc.”

This is as bad as how I handled the pigs!

I did nothing wrong. I know he didn’t know what was going on at the time, but he knew enough to know I did nothing wrong and to stand by me and defend me even if I had. The freeloader’s boyfriend never would’ve said or implied that she did anything wrong, so what have we got here? The guy with the guilty woman playing like she’s all innocent while the guy with the innocent woman implies she’s guilty? He would never do such a thing to her. He would never come out and tell his bitch that if she had just handled things differently, none of this would’ve happened, or imply in any way shape or form that she either asked for what she got or that she did wrong in any way, so how could my husband do so to me? The letter’s already been given to the wrong people and I can’t change what Tom believes, but I was always the victim in this case. I’m the one who the hate crime was committed when they perjured themselves and when I was dealt such an insane sentence. Nobody should get 3 years for a letter. Period. Whether they wrote it or not, what happened to me was wrong and it was not my fault. My only fault was complaining about the wrong person with the wrong connections might think about it, but and looking too Jewish, and he never should’ve written any such thing. Not cuz of what they because it was the wrong thing to say. Even if I had been guilty, you don’t admit it. If I shot someone in cold blood, he should still stand by me by insisting I’m innocent. It’d be the proper thing to do and it would be what I’d do for him. I want the same support and treatment I’d give him.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2002 I’m making us a roast right now. Something I haven’t done in a while. Meanwhile, today’s the first day we didn’t have to use the AC. It was rainy and cloudy. Tom said there was even some thunder, but it obviously wasn’t too loud, since nothing woke me up. I had a nightmare where a bunch of birds were pecking at the back of my neck which jarred me awake, but I fell right back to sleep.

I have a bad feeling that I’ll be celebrating this next birthday without my Little Buddy. He’s less and less active, eating less, moving slower, having to take breaks, etc. He sits for several minutes at a time and lets me pat him, which isn’t like him. He loves attention from me, yes, but he also loves to run around and explore and he hasn’t been doing much of that. He’s hardly at the door begging to be let out these days and he even feels old when I hold him. He’s lost some weight. My bouncy, agile, playful little puppy dog rat has turned into a sluggish little thing that does nothing but sleep most of the time. Tears sting my eyes just thinking about it. I thought Scuttles and Houdini hit me hard when they died, well, there’ll be no comparison!

I thought I was supposed to be receiving daily jokes from this site, but I haven’t gotten today’s joke from them, so I don’t know what the scoop is. That’s okay, though. I can go to them.

As I go through late ’96, I realize that the best part of reading back through the shit I went through with my family is knowing that it’s all over. Oh, how I wish I could read back on the freeloaders and be able to say, “At least it’s over!” Maybe someday. Maybe. They can’t victimize me forever. After all, we can move if that ends up being the only way to shake them off.

Last night I realized that the stress over pissing for someone stopped as quickly as it began which was as soon as Scot mentioned Casa Grande. Could it be because I won’t have to do so after all? Or is it simply because I’ve come to accept the inevitable? I doubt it’s cuz he’s gonna stay in Maricopa.

We ordered 2 of the 3 Playboy dolls. The one we didn’t order isn’t available yet. It’s to be manufactured at the end of this month, though. That’s the Dalene doll. Meanwhile, Victoria and Karen are on their way from New York via UPS, but I’m sure there’ll be some problem, as usual. They’re dolls, so there has to be.

Last night I got a wallpaper picture of the Cher doll and it’s really, really nice, though I’m not a Cher fan. I emailed it to Mary, asking her to be on the lookout for it in department stores so I could see if it ends up being marked down after the holidays. I told her it’d be in the Barbie section. I also asked that she look for Barbie as a brunette ballerina in white from Swan Lake. That one’s usually around $30, but I don’t know about Cher.

I heard from Mary today. She said her birthday (her third one in custody) was so awful that she wrote a clip on it. It’s a small draft, but I haven’t gone through it yet. I guess I’m included in it from what she said, and I told her I hoped she didn’t mind if I corrected the spelling of my name! She spells it with a y at the end like most people do.

Anyway, I remember how horrid my birthday was in there, expecting my first commissary order that I never got when I was moved from M to A.

She’s been rolling with laughter over the jokes.

She said Hope’s gone and has an appeal going in regard to her 40-year sentence, but she’ll never get a reduction. Not in this state. She should put her energy into adapting to prison life, not fighting hopeless battles. Better yet, she should try to escape. I think Mary should run too, once she’s free, but that’s mainly cuz she’s going to be looking at so many years of probation. Intense probation.

She said she was stuck with some girl who was trying to kick a speed addiction for a while. Sounds like creepy, gross, commissary-begging Charlotte! Now she’s in with that Virginia girl she mentioned getting in with after Hope left.

Damn, I wish I had had that much control over whom I celled with and for how long, but I did get them to let me spend a third or so of my sentence alone. That’s the beauty of having DOs you like that likes you back. You get stuff from them, and every little favor goes a long way in that dive.

She liked the lipstick kiss I enclosed for her. This time I put on my glittery Chapstick and gave her a glitter kiss. It’s light, but you can still see it. Yeah, we give each other kisses every now and then. Ooh! Aren’t we such naughty girls?

She’s had bettas before and said they look really cool under fluorescent light. I wonder what she’ll think of the crabs I intend to get. The money’s now there, so maybe we’ll hit the stores Monday morning.

She said her allergies are driving her nuts, but mine have been fine. I’ve only had the spray twice in well over a month now. Maybe I did cure myself with the power of wishful thinking. If I can go another few months, then yes I did, and that’d be a hell of a power to have! What a gift! If only I could “cure” my life of something else, too.

She sent another picture to scan/store/print, but as I reminded her, color ink is still pretty expensive, so I don’t want to print too many pictures, though I can store as many as she likes.

Speaking of pictures, I explained to her that I’ve been making our own calendars, using pictures like what I use to make her address labels with – animals, flowers, scenery, etc. I told her I’d hang onto them after we’re done with them and that I’d send them to her in prison if she’d like. I doubt they’ll have any rules about how many pictures an inmate can get and how big they can be as long as they’re not explicit, violent or gruesome. This way she can decorate with them and either ditch or give away the ones she doesn’t like. They’ll have monthly grids and some writing on the backs of them, but they won’t show through.

I don’t know what bothers me more, the twisted unfairness of this world, or the fact that not one single solitary person who’s fucked me over has ever paid for it, be it by the courts, by God, etc.

If you beat up a black person and call them a racial slur, they call it a hate crime. If you beat up a big person and call them a fatso, they call it what it is. All these “minorities” have to do is say you called them this or called them that, and they’re the ones who are automatically believed which changes everything.

Tom and I were talking about how they’d simply have dealt me a decade in prison if I had beat the sick bitch up in a fit of rage, despite how this state tends to go harder on the lesser, non-premeditated crimes.

Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it. But the fellow black or the male or the non-Jewish person would’ve gotten the one-year probation I was supposed to get, and even that’s ridiculous for a letter. In other words, as long as Jodi’s involved, it doesn’t matter what the state, the colors, or the religion is as long as she suffers dearly. If she falls the hardest it all doesn’t matter. No details count. Makes me wonder this – if someone in Maricopa got down on their knees and begged God to let them rip off or assault someone and get away with it, would God answer by giving them directions to this house?

Another thing I wonder is – when I think of the system that fucked me over, the Nancys who threatened to “show” me how to shut up, the contractors that took us for thousands – well – what are all these people gonna do when little Jodi stops caring about consequences? I’ll snap the next time and I know it, and like I said before, I’ll owe myself that much. I won’t be able to restrain myself if I try cuz people just don’t realize the long-term accumulative effect this shit has had and is having on me. I say I’ll just sit back and take it so I won’t have to go to jail, but will it really be that easy when the time comes? And it will come. If God and the system won’t protect me, then who will? I guess I’ll have to be the one to do so, even if doing what’s right and taking a stand for myself means I have to suffer the consequences for it in the end. Like a soldier who died at war; at least they died trying to do what was right and by defending themselves.

If God didn’t put me here to realize most of my past/present/future dreams, then can I at least not be society’s whipping boy?

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2002 Well, I’m back to being right on, as I usually am, with the negative vibes. Tom said our stock money should have been deposited last night, but it wasn’t, which would be the only way could afford to get crabs the next day (today).

“No, it won’t. The money won’t be there cuz I want to get crabs tomorrow,” I told Tom on Thursday, and sure enough, it didn’t post last night. So he called them up and they said it’d be there early next week, so we may get the crabs then.

He also called about the sewing machine and about Tasha. The sewing people said it was shipped on the 23rd, so it’s going to beat its deadline big time without any problems.

Of course, it’s not a doll.

Tasha was shipped on the 18th and the stupid fucks sent her to Tempe, even though we put the new address on the envelope and checked the ‘new address’ box.

Great. Now we have to deal with doll packages in Tempe yet again. Tempe will just throw her on a shelf and consider her delivered. As I told Tom, I am so, so sick of PG, but he said, “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll get you something for your birthday.” Well, if we’re ever dumb enough to use them again, we need to call them and very slowly, as if we were talking to a small child, tell them to wipe both PO Box addresses out of their computer completely, so they can ship the dolls straight to the house by UPS.

Anyway, my vibes say there probably won’t be a truck in November, but there’s a slight possibility around the 23rd.

Last night I changed the betta’s water, but this time, I poured new water in first so the current would stir up shit, before scooping out several cups of water. Then I filled the bowls to an inch below the rims.

I love the turquoise betta. He’s my favorite. I love the way he’s so alert, curious and brave. He sometimes moves from side to side like an anxious dog that is excited about going for a walk or something.

We noticed that the mollies, particularly our very pregnant Molly, were rocking back and forth from side to side, so I did some online research. They call it the shimmies and say it’s usually done when they get stressed out over water conditions. I added more salt, which mollies like and which is okay to do since they’re in with other livebearers, and it’s calmed the shimmies a bit.

The more I think about it, the more I know I’m right about how God will sic new neighbors on us after the freeloaders are finished with us. Not only do old patterns tell me that’s what he’ll do, but notice how Dan’s engine-gunning sprees were during that lull when we thought the freeloaders were out of our lives for good? It recently dawned on me that that’s why it’s been quiet around here since I left jail. Why use new neighbors to harass us when he’s not yet through with using old neighbors?

Anyway, when we do trade in the old ones for new ones, I’ll know to do nothing about it but just sit back and take it cuz I’m not going to jail for anyone else ever again.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2002 I’m doing some fine-tuning at the moment, and damn, ’96 sure was a bad year for us! I still wanted a kid, his parents were stealing our lives and money, and the freeloaders were driving us crazy.

Today, no family members steal our lives and money, I no longer want a kid, but the freeloaders are still driving us crazy. They’re just doing it from a distance, in a different way.

Later…

Now that’s a man who loves his wife. Tom told me that if I were framed and sent to prison either for life or very many years, he’d immediately work on ways to bust me out. I don’t see how the hell he could pull it off or how God would even let him, but it’s nice to know he’d at least try. Meanwhile, I’d kill myself for damn sure.

I decided to surprise Paula with a regular letter, but that’s mainly only to use an envelope in which the return address picture didn’t come out too well, and to try to stress to the dumb ditz that we have blocks. That’s what I want her to believe so she doesn’t nag me, but then again, how much can she be a nag from across the country? All I have to do is ignore her, and unlike the freeloaders, she couldn’t stop me from doing so.

I’m just sick of her, her man troubles, her games. She can’t get mail to me and now she can’t get email to me.

Anyway, I didn’t enclose any jokes, knowing she probably wouldn’t get them, but I did tell her that I don’t think that kid of hers is letting her know when I email her, and I told her I had sent her journals for August and September, as well as from the late 80s and early 90s. I also told her that unless I got a message telling me otherwise, I wasn’t going to bother sending anything else since she may very well not get whatever I sent.

I decided that Tom and I should write down our answers and swap them at the same time so we wouldn’t be influenced by each other’s decisions as far as what to do about the beds. I opted to keep things as they are but get a new bed. He opted to go with two twin beds of some kind side by side. Then, I opted to go along with him, since there was an alternative to doing it his way. Meaning, if he starts snoring too much, all we have to do is kick him out and into the guest room, but as it is, there’s no alternative cuz I can’t sleep through his movements in this bed, whether he snores or not.

I don’t know if I’m going to like two side by sides. I’m just so used to the way things are and I’m not thrilled about the idea of having to deal with his bad breath stinking up the room, either. Guys really do stink compared to women. At the same time, though, if he truly does want to do this, then I’m naturally going to want to try to please the one I love.

They caught the sniper. Naturally, it’s black. So they’ll plead him down to life in prison instead of the death sentence all for being black and that’ll be that. That way they won’t have to deal with a riot on their hands for doing the right thing by executing the piece of shit.

“They wrote about me and published it,” I told Tom, “We ought to write about them and publish it” (freeloaders, pigs, Paul, judge).

“That’d be stupid. That’d just bring attention to ourselves.”

That’s true. And of course, if it were me doing the writing there’d be consequences to pay. I’m now allowed to do what others can do.

I asked Tom, “Remember how you said that once it was March you felt the end of the jail time getting closer? Well, do you feel close to the end of the whole thing at this point?”

Yes, he said, but after being bullshitted left and right in regard to these freeloaders, I can’t afford to be too optimistic. I wonder, though, is this November that’s just a week away really going to be the last November with them as a part of our lives? Will December be the last December? Is ’03 the last year with them connected to 90% of our everyday lives? Or is my “calling” in life really to be fucked over by one source after another and to do for others at my own expense? Doing for others cuz you want to and cuz you care is different from doing for others cuz you have no choice, and while you’re at it, you lose so much.

Come next year I’ll need a good 6 months to a year with no subpoenas or pigs at our door in order to rest assured that it’s truly “over.”

I had started to see a slight ray of hope at the end of the tunnel till Scot informed us of this Casa Grande shit. We can’t even go more than a few months with things running smoothly. On probation, there’s always something coming up. Something else we have to do, some issue that might have to be dealt with, some kind of change, etc. A few months into Casa Grande and there’ll be some new bullshit to arise. Maybe they’ll want more money per month or maybe he’ll switch to Phoenix and we’ll have to go there which is twice as far as Casa Grande.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2002 This morning, before 10:00, Tom parked the car in back. Fortunately, at 76’ long, this house can conceal the car well. Since he’s on vacation and isn’t going to be going anywhere till the end of the week, I decided we should park it there to make it look like no one’s home should Scot stop by. From the direction he comes in from, he shouldn’t see it parked there. Whether or not he’d snoop around and look in back if he came by and got no answer, I don’t know, but I’m on nights right now and no answer is exactly what he’ll get if he does come by this week.

Tom said that if we were questioned, he’d say it was back there cuz he wanted to be near one of the hoses to deal with a radiator leak. That’s what we’d say, but I wouldn’t like it. It’d make me feel like a child all over again having to explain my actions. Scot’s not my father and I’m not a minor, so as far as I’m concerned, I really don’t owe him any explanations, but that’s the problem with most people; they think you do owe them explanations. It’s only been recently, I’m sorry to say, that I’ve put my foot down as far as that goes, excluding with friends and loved ones, of course. I mean, why did I ever think for a minute that I owed Stacey any explanation as to my problems with other residents there? Again, I know the past can’t be undone, but it’s at least taught me how to better handle things in the future.

As far as who to say what to, Tom advised me to say, “I want a lawyer present before you question me,” rather than, “Charge me or release me,” should the cops ever pick me up again. They’ll try to manipulate me, of course, but I owe them absolutely no explanations whatsoever and I’m not obligated to say a word. It’s also okay to discuss probation-related issues with Scot, for example; it’s if he suddenly were to ask me where I was at certain times that I need to keep my mouth shut. Personally, I don’t think I even owe him any explanation if he came by, saw the car and got no answer. It’s just that I get paranoid about making him paranoid cuz that could cause trouble. A little paranoia or a little misunderstanding could cause things like this house getting torn apart, etc. As always, he’s the one with the hold on me. I mean, I could embarrass him in the end by writing to his boss and saying he raped me and that I was too afraid to say so as his client, but that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo whatever was done to me and he wouldn’t lose his job over it.

Tom and I were talking about law-related things earlier. It’s so race, gender, and money-biased. Take bail for example. Think it was created so people could have a chance at being free for a while longer out of the goodness of their hearts? No, of course not. It was created as an opportunity to make more money.

Some sniper is on the loose in the Washington DC area. They’re still not even sure if it’s one or two people or terrorists but the person(s) obviously wants to get caught cuz they’re now sending letters and making calls to the cops.

“Why don’t they just turn themselves in if they want to get caught?” I asked Tom.

“Cuz it’s a subconscious thing,” he told me.

Subconsciously or not, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to get caught and go to jail for any reason. I also can’t imagine how this whacko’s gotten this far without yet getting caught, with or without calls and letters to the cops. See, that’s the difference between me and most people. I could magically be in the state of Maine in one second, pick up a gun lying in the middle of the street with a gloved hand, shoot someone dead, be back here at home in the next second, yet still get caught. Somehow, someway, God would lead the authorities to my door.

Something up there really wanted me to go down for these freeloaders, that’s for sure. It was like something was possessing me to handle the black pig in every way I knew I shouldn’t. After all, I did it right back east by ignoring that detective lady from Northampton when she came over wanting to talk to me about the shit going on with Maliheh.

One really needs to be aware of who they tell what to, that’s for sure. The amount of information one shares with others is amazing. Take that little presentencing interview I did over the phone with that guy for instance. When Tom and I met with Paul on sentencing day, I found that he had typed up everything I said. Not that I said anything I wouldn’t say to anyone else, but I felt betrayed nonetheless. Not that this matters either or changes anything, but I’m sure Scot has a copy of every single grievance and tank order I filled out while in jail, plus anything the DOs might’ve said/written in regard to me.

If only I could earn just $5 measly dollars a week. I’d settle for just that, yet asking for so little is asking for so much in my case, as it usually is. With $5 a week, assuming it wasn’t needed for anything else more important, I could get $25 in 5 weeks and a $300 doll in a little over half a year.

Our land still continues to be a regular haven for the neighborhood dogs, though they haven’t torn anything up lately, so that’s good.

I’m really surprised that the cooler weather hasn’t brought the renters outside on a regular basis, but it’s still a bit warm. We’re still needing the AC for about 8-10 hours a day.

Paula’s playing her games with me again, but I’m just ignoring her. She left a message, and without mentioning the email I sent the last time or the time before saying we got long-distance blocks, she said her phone number might be changing at that she’d mail it to me.

Can’t she leave it on the machine? Besides, she can’t get mail to me. Doesn’t she remember this?

Now that ink isn’t going to be an issue once we get a laser cartridge, I could start writing her by regular mail again, but I highly doubt I will. I have a hell of a feeling, though, that she hasn’t gotten the journals I sent her over the last few months.

Anyway, last night’s shopping was fun. I tend to save my better news for last – well – we set the bombs off at 5:00, then took off for Circle K. I got my coffee and a candy bar and he got soda and cupcakes.

We went to the Petco in Ahwatukee. I first got the rats a cute little colorful fleece-lined bed and then I got a brightly colored pagoda for the fish tank. It’s only a few inches tall with little windows that only the tiny fish could swim through. It’s mostly neon pink and it really adds more color to the tank.

The fake plants in the betta’s bowls never grew, but the ones in the tank are doing really well. In fact, I’m amazed at how fast they grow. You can see them growing by the hour! I wonder how big they’ll get.

Anyway, they had a huge selection of fish, but a shitty selection of glass fish so we didn’t get any of those. They had some gorgeous neon-colored fish, but they were saltwater fish, so we couldn’t get those. Instead, we got a Chinese algae eater (which can grow to 6” - 12” and is a dull-looking, long skinny gray fish), and a couple of Dalmatian mollies (one female, one male). These mollies, Molly and Ollie, are a good size. About 4” like the bettas. I added a little salt for them as they recommended, but they are freshwater fish. I checked online, and they’re live-bearers too, like the guppies. I was wrong in calling them ‘black Dalmatian mollies.’ They’re just Dalmatians. There are 4 different kinds of mollies, according to my research - black, gold, fintail, and Dalmatians.

These mollies can really eat, and Molly sure is a fat one. I don’t know if it’s cuz she’s pregnant or if that’s just the way she is.

When I was around 15, I had these land crabs. They’re these crabs that live in shells. They have gills just like fish and no lungs, but like with bettas, they’ll drown if submerged in water for long periods of time. These crabs need no water at all other than to drink.

Anyway, all this time I thought they didn’t sell them out here for some reason and was confused because here they call them hermit crabs and not land crabs. Last night, though, I was quite happy to learn that they do sell these same crabs here, but Petco was sold out of them. Friday we’ll probably get some. They’re fun pets, though not as cute as rats and mice. They’re nocturnal too, and love to climb on things. I’m going to put them in the wire cage I got when I got Ratsy. They cost next to nothing to maintain just like with the fish. They’ll eat almost anything as long as it’s not dairy, acidic fruit or potatoes. They very rarely pinch, and if they do, it’s usually only cuz they’re scared or hungry, so you should let them get to know you before you handle them much and keep them well-fed. All they need, besides their basic food which will last forever, is a small hamster ball to run around in so they can’t get lost under furniture, a spare shell to grow into, gravel or sand for the floor of their cage, and a shallow water bowl that they can’t drown in (since they like to climb into the water bowl).

They’re pretty dumb, though. They’ll walk off tables, let you rip them apart if you try to pull them from their shells, and they don’t have sense enough to walk around things. Instead, they have to walk over or under things.

Tom’s doing what he usually does when he’s not on vacation – watching TV and tinkering with computers. We read together for a little while, too.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2002 Oh, this man really frustrates and confuses me at times! We were talking about the different possibilities for putting two twin beds side by side in the master bedroom. I asked him what was most important to him, sleeping in the same room, having a setup that would allow us to get close, both, or does it not matter at all? Meaning, would he be indifferent as to whether or not we created some sort of setup or kept things the way they are? His answer to this was that he was just going along with what I wanted, as usual, not knowing he had a choice in the matter.

That’s bullshit, I told him. His desires and opinions have always mattered to me and I always try to factor them into my plans. Buying dolls is one thing, this is another. If he didn’t like the Playboys, I’d still get them anyway. But if he’s happy keeping things the way they are, then so am I, and in that case, since I don’t particularly care for this bed, I’ll either get a memory foam mattress or a waterbed.

Anyway, we weren’t going to do anything bed-wise till we had next year’s stock, so I told him to take the next few months to think about what he wants, and I’ll base my decisions on that.

We were also talking about the different ways we see this freeloader shit. To him, the freeloaders have nothing to do with us anymore, they’ve been out of this shit for some time now, the state’s taken over, etc., but that’s not the way I see it. Yes, the pig, lawyer and judge are just as guilty, bad and responsible as the freeloaders, but anything I have to do that somehow stems its way back to them is every bit a reminder of just how much they are still connected to us. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be having to pay monthly fees, report, etc, so they are not gone from our lives and they do have something to do with us still. They have a lot of something to do with us.

Anyway, today’s been another wonderfully blackless day. Most days are like this, as Tom pointed out. Yes, they are. It’s just that those days are spent stressing out over what might come up and anxious anticipation of what will come up.

The guppies have turned out to be little beggars. As soon as I put my hand over the top of the tank, they float up to the top in anticipation of being fed.

At about 5:30, we’re going to bomb. The spider count’s on the rise again. Once it gets to where I’m seeing them every day for nearly a week, I know they won’t go away, so we’re going to bomb, hit Circle K, then Petco.

In other news, we may be finding a house across the way real soon. A couple of hours ago there was a knock on the door. My immediate instinct was that it was Scot, but I thought the knock didn’t quite sound like his. It was longer. When I opened the door, I found a very conservatively dressed guy who said he was looking to buy the 10 acres across the way. I’m not sure if he meant across from us, across from next door or what, but anyway, Tom and I spoke to him for a few minutes. He introduced himself as Michael (great, another Michael!). He asked about the surrounding roads, mentioned having someone drill him a well after we told him not to use Southland, asked how deep our well is (which Tom says is 885 and not 785), how it works, if we liked it out here, how long we’d been here, and that’s basically it.

If we have to have someone across the way, I get the distinct impression he’d make a good neighbor. He’s white, seemed very polite and considerate, and like he may be either gay or a dedicated family man, possibly Mormon. Now, I don’t dig the idea of having a shitload of Mormons so close, but you can bet your ass I’d take that over a shitload of minorities any day. Mormons don’t go blasting music like blacks and Mexicans do which is much, much louder than a group of screaming kids, of course.

No, I don’t like the idea of seeing a house out front where we once saw nothing for the 3 years we’ve been here, and I know they’ll hang out front and that I’ll probably hear the kids and dogs somewhat, but it’ll up the value around here. Especially since he said he was getting a manufactured house. We need newer houses to make up for the crappy rentals we got in back.

I’d rather kids screaming first, then dogs, then music. Obviously, I picked music to be last cuz it’s the loudest. I picked kids over dogs cuz the dogs are out there 24/7. The kids aren’t. Being 300’ away instead of 3’ away helps too as does not having a block wall so close to the house to enhance the sound.

I checked out a handful of joke sites last night, wanting to even the score. For every one joke I send Dave, he sends me a dozen, so I thought I’d balance things out a bit. Most were dull, but some were funny. I printed a good 20 or so out for Mary, too.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 20, 2002 Little Buddy’s starting to show his age. He isn’t going bald like Ratsy did, but he’s slowing down somewhat, needing to rest more often during playtime.

Tomorrow we’re going to the fish store to see what they’ve got. We also have to get that algae eater. The purple glass fish’s color is starting to break up a bit, but the pink and green ones are still solidly colored. Perhaps the purple one’s older.

Tom and I discussed the pros and cons of skipping, transferring, and sticking this freeloader shit out. The main issue is the humiliation of having to piss with someone gawking at me. The only place there’s an opening at the bank to transfer to is Dallas, but Texas would certainly do the same thing, being so much like Arizona.

If we ran, we’d have to give up our whole lives and not own property or houses, and so we both agreed that the freeloaders aren’t worth giving that up for. We’ve been made to give up enough for them as it is. I know how to handle the pigs now and I know much, much more about the law. Therefore, if they did start a whole new round of shit with me next year, we’d know how to handle it and keep this from happening again. My problem was mainly pleading guilty. If I’d just told the black pig that I wanted a lawyer before I was questioned, and had I gotten a real lawyer, I’d have been alright. The interrogation would’ve been taped, and if the lawyer didn’t tell me to keep my mouth shut, which would’ve been the best and proper advice to give any client, we could’ve gotten me off on faulty representation.

I have so many conflicting emotions. Last night I was saying to myself, you’re the one who won’t walk away. You’re the one who keeps playing into this shit and their abuse by paying the $40 a month, by going to Scot, etc.

On the other hand, this house simply isn’t worth giving up for them. At least not yet. If I were looking at a decade or more of this shit, then yes, it would be. We’d more than likely head to a country with no extradition laws.

So, after weighing the pros and cons I told myself, it’ll probably be just one test, you’ll have just 10 months left, then you’ll more than likely never hear from the freeloaders again. I don’t want to go to states like Texas or go back to living in apartments in cities. Not for the freeloaders, not for anyone or anything. Besides, wherever we go, there’ll always be something going on. If the freeloaders weren’t our problem, something or someone else would be.

Tom’s not only sure it’ll be over at the said date next year, but that the freeloaders moved out of state as well. Especially since they had no careers or houses to hold them down. Well, I’d move if I fucked someone over the way they did with me, but at the same time, I wouldn’t count on it. They’re so fucking arrogant. They think they’re invincible when it comes to me, which sadly, has more than a grain of truth to it. They are invincible where I’m concerned. They can do anything they want to me and get away with it and they know it. Makes me wonder if they stuck around, hoping I’d make a move on them just so they could take me down again. These are the kinds of people who’ll risk their safety and put themselves out to get at those they hate.

What is it with the pigs in this world, though? How do they sleep at night knowing they’ve tricked and manipulated so many people into losing so much and going through so much hell? Is it an inferiority complex they have that makes them feel they’ve got to lash out at others? Were they so fucked over growing up that makes them want to use and abuse their authority? What is it? I asked Tom, who said there are all different reasons why they do the things they do, though obviously, in my case, a certain black pig did a service to his very hateful, vindictive friend.

Tom’s not sure what to make of Mary’s case, but for some reason, I think she’ll actually end up having an easier time here than in Florida. In Florida, as Tom pointed out, it’s just the opposite of how it is here and it would actually help if she was Jewish.

Tom said he’s still not convinced Scot will stop working here, but trust me, it’ll happen. He says that like most people, he’s saying what he wants to happen. “He more than likely lives in Casa Grande, so that’s why he’d want to work out of there only.”

“But he still has to come to Maricopa to do home visits,” I said, and he reminded me that his visits have spread out.

“But that’s only because I’m towards the end of the sentence and haven’t been a problem,” I told him. “I’m sure there are others with years ahead of them that are much more likely to fuck up.”

So basically, if we want to hang onto this house till we’re ready to move on, and we will someday for sure, I have to hope I’m only humiliated once, hope the class issue doesn’t come up again, then get off pro in 10 months and hope for the best. When it comes time for the test, I’ll just have to tell myself I did it once, I can do it again.

From what I’ve read, in case I forgot to say so before, I think the Playboy dolls are made mainly of a rubbery material. That would explain why they’re supposed to feel like they have real skin, and I think they may move a bit, though not much. They’d never be as poseable as Tyler. Especially with no joints.

Since we agreed to get the Playboy set with this year’s stock and Felicity with next year’s stock, I decided to think about what to get with my holiday/birthday money. Anything to keep my mind off Casa Grande! Plus, we’re almost down to just a couple of months now. So, I told myself, well, I could order from PG, but they’re not reliable. I could get the Barbies, but they’re too small and not very realistic looking. Why don’t I check Ashton-Drake? They take forever (3 weeks), but they’re reliable.

So I checked them out, not expecting to find anything too affordable, then I found the Vive le Ballet collection. It’s a subscription plan where you get 3 sets of 3 fairy ballerinas every other month for $30 and you can cancel anytime. They’re absolutely beautiful! They’re small (5”) yet quite realistic looking. Ballerinas are one of my favorite themes. I only saw a picture of the first set and each one is posed differently. One wears white, one’s in pink, and one’s in purple. They have wigs and real clothes, which is rare on ballerinas this small. At this size, they usually have molded hair and their outfits are part of the sculpt, too. They’re actually Christmas tree ornaments, but I think I’ll hang them by hooks under the kitchen cabinets. That’d look way nice.

The first set consists of Swan Lake, The Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty. The second has Giselle, The Firebird and Snow White. The third has Midsummer Nights, Les Sylphides and Cinderella. Never heard of 3 of these.

It’s hard to tell by their pictures what color hair they have. I think their eyes are closed to create that dreamy look. Besides, I don’t know that they can do inset eyes on dolls this small. The question is, would I consider them to be figurines or dolls? I guess I’d consider them to be dolls because, to me, figurines don’t usually have wigs or real clothes.

I wish people would take better pictures of their dolls. They’re either too blocky, too small or not complete. For some reason, unlike the other two, the Dalene doll is only shown to just below the knee.

Then again, Little Buddy could’ve fooled me as far as his age goes tonight. This is the fourth time he’s wanted to be out running around.

Later…

We saw a fighter jet when we went into town the other day, so although I only heard booms for a couple of days there, they are still around.

I’m going to be doing myself, Mary, and animals a favor. I decided to send the Humane Society $10. Not only will it help animals, but they send gorgeous animal cards that I know Mary would just love. They’ll also send us address labels, something we haven’t gotten yet for the new address. They’re good for bills.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2002 Well, that’s interesting. I’ve eaten a ton of ice cream in the last two days, yet I’m down 1½ pounds.

Dave still sends jokes regularly, but a lot of them aren’t very funny. I put the good ones in my joke file and enclosed them in Mary’s letters.

Tom is now on vacation and we’re going to sit down, after we enjoy a relaxing weekend, and decide what to do about this Casa Grande shit. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he’ll never test me again here. Especially with the way he was telling me to “be prepared.” In other words, prepare my bladder. It’ll probably only be once that I’ll have to endure the humiliation of that all over again, but what we’re going to do is decide if it’s worth it.

What are the freeloaders worth giving up, and how far should we go as far as taking precautionary measures are concerned? We talked about moving out of state and researching which states have what as far as their probation goes, but that’s just it – are the freeloaders worth moving a little sooner than we normally would’ve and taking the chance that we may be losing even more money, or are they worth pissing in front of someone?

Should we move before 10/30/2003, or should we take a gamble, stick around, and hope that the freeloaders will let me out of their clutches once and for all?

Should I sit back, roll with the punches and tell myself that life’s full of bullshit and people having to do what they don’t want to do anyway? Or should I be like, no, this is too extreme? Every day people aren’t made to piss in front of others. They’re not made to lose their freedom and so much money by their very own perpetrators.

What about Tom? Tom loves this state, regardless of its crazy laws. How would he feel about leaving it and moving away from family?

Is it safe to assume that our “punishment” for moving out of the city will end if the freeloaders do give us our lives back, or will God inflict something else upon us to keep the punishment going?

I wonder if Scot would’ve tested me more than he has if Maricopa was as convenient to do so as Casa Grande?

Other questions to discuss will be things like whether or not I should transfer my pro the legal way like I did when I moved to Connecticut and then out here if we do move, or should we just run? I guess that since I’ll have 10 months and not years come January, we would transfer it.

Are there any alternatives to both moving and going to Casa Grande, be it legal or not?

Later…

I forgot to mention that Mary said they started with just two guppies 5 years ago.

Anyway, I’m now almost done with the other Mary’s stuff. She’s really turning into quite a talented writer. Getting better and better all the time. She’s definitely got a lot of smarts for her age.

I can finally put in a good word for her mother for pulling her out of the convent on account of sister Larene’s abuse. But I don’t understand the hypocrisy. If it wasn’t okay for Larene to beat her, why was it okay for her to do so? Even so, I wish someone had gone to bat for me like that, and I wish God would chastise just one of my abusers, just one like her mother believed he would with Larene.

It’s funny how we can sometimes trust the very people that hurt us. In some aspects, my folks were very trustworthy. When it came to getting me checked into the hospital for ear surgery in Boston, I knew I could count on them to know what they were doing. I know I could trust them, for example, to find me a suitable kiln, too.

They weren’t crazy, just mean. Nor were they stupid, but they were ignorant. They didn’t quite have the experiences that one would have living alone and childless for as long as I did. Wisdom comes more from experience than age. This is why I consider myself to be smarter than them despite the fact that they’re over 3 decades older.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2002 And the punishment goes right on. My day started off wonderfully, but as always, the freeloaders had to come and ruin my peace and happiness. It never fucking ends! God’s going to victimize Tom and I with these people forever! They just won’t fucking go away! They are an inextricable part of our lives. Oh, I am sooo pissed right now!

My day starts off great with Tom telling me that the stock sold this morning, then I see Scot and he comes out and tells us there’s a 90% chance that starting in January, we can only see him in Casa Grande, cuz of a new judge coming in and not having the space and privacy to meet with people. Naturally, the first thing that came to mind was, great. Now I’ll have to endure the humiliation of pissing in front of someone. The second thing that came to mind was the longer drive. It’s about 14 miles to see him here in town, but Casa fucking Grande is more like 24 miles. Almost twice as far.

I can’t believe how much of my life, time and money I’ve lost over a fucking letter! I just can’t believe this shit. There’s always something more we gotta do for these freeloaders. Always. It’s been one thing after another and it’s never going to end. Never! Always with me, always with them. The next thing I know he’ll be saying they made a new rule demanding everyone to be tested at least once a month. If we had to switch to Casa Grande with just 3 or 4 months left, it wouldn’t be so bad, but we’ll be talking 10 come January.

Then, when I brought up the subject of seeing him just once a month, he said he makes everyone see him twice a month and that those who see him only once a month see him that little cuz they came from POs that lowered them to that.

Well, I appreciate the fact that he’s kept his word so far and hasn’t used or abused his position, but he’s gotten to be a little too by the book. I think it’s pretty asinine of him not to have a little compassion for those with long drives who haven’t been a problem. It’d be less paperwork for him if he did, but I guess the control is worth it to him. Tom said that he thinks they’ll consider keeping him around somehow since most of his clients live here, but that’s bullshit and I know it. They don’t give a damn. They don’t have one stitch of empathy for Maricopa’s probationers, trust me. He also says I may never be tested again since I have a clean track record, but that doesn’t mean shit and I know it. This state doesn’t give a shit about track records, long drives and good behavior. All it cares about is money, power and control.

These freeloaders have really killed my dream of living out here. They’ve totally marred the whole moving experience, the land, the house, etc. This place is going to be forever connected to them and I can’t stay here. As I told Tom, “I can’t live here anymore. I can’t just sit around and let ourselves be victimized year after year. You think a year from now’s gonna be the end? Well, even if it appeared to be, I’d still always be looking over my shoulder with paranoia, wondering if they were going to either rehash this shit or start over on me with something new to frame me with. Or maybe they’ll just come and shoot us or torch our house down. I don’t want to stick around and find out. Fuck the big beautiful house and making money off it. I don’t want it if this shit is the price we have to pay for it. I want out and I’ll live in a teepee in the woods for all I care! Let’s just take the money and run and get the fuck out of this shit state. It’s the only way we’re ever going to be able to move on cuz this state sure as hell won’t let us.”

See, I should’ve killed myself two years ago. At the time I had nearly 35 years of experience to know that it’s just going to be one thing after another for the rest of my life. Either some person or fate is going to interfere with my life while God just sits back and lets it all happen.

When Tom mentioned paying off the balance all at once, Scot said he didn’t recommend it cuz Tom could get a new job in a new part of the country and it’d be hell trying to get the money back. In other words, don’t pay it off in case I get thrown in jail.

There’s always some kind of change or new thing I gotta do for these freeloaders and I’m so fucking sick of it! aaarrrggghhh!!! “If only we could torture and kill everyone involved in causing this to happen to us!” I told Tom.

“Well, all I can say…” he started to say till I cut him off with, “Is that we can’t because we’d go to prison for the rest of our lives for it while God protected them.”

The only good thing about going to Casa Grande, the only good thing, would be that it wouldn’t matter which Friday we went to see him, although that’s going to change, too. Friday might become Wednesday.

Tom said we’ve got 2½ months to work something out and that there’s no sense in getting pissed off about it now cuz nothing’s happened yet.

But it will. He said there’s a 90% chance it will and that’s good enough for me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal that’s as inevitable as the sun rising and setting.

I tried to tell myself, oh just relax. You know God loves to see you get all worked up and worried over nothing. Just maybe you won’t be tested there.

But maybe I will be. I don’t know this for sure and I don’t want to stick around and find out. I want out! I haven’t been tested since mid-February. That’s 8 months. If he tested me here before the year’s out, then I might be tempted to believe he wouldn’t ever test me again, no matter where we were. Then the only issue would be the longer drive, though we’d be able to be a bit choosier about when we went.

All in all, even if they came out and kicked me off probation today, I still think we should get out of here as soon as we can. This is no place to live, be it in a big city like Phoenix or rural Maricopa. Any state that can have such ludicrous laws is no place I want to be. And I don’t like the idea of living in this kind of society. People may be people wherever you go, but this is way worse. I can’t live in a place where the people react like butchy Andi and like the freeloaders did, simply because I asked them to quiet down.

I can’t believe all this shit started over loud music! If they had just shut up, none of this shit would’ve ever happened, but see, that’s what you get in Arizona; you politely ask someone to do something that’s reasonable, appropriate and correct, and this is the shit you get for it. They use their connections to get at you, they torture you more, or both. These people can’t handle shit out here and they’re so fucking vindictive!

As I said, our stock sold. I wish all my negative vibes could be wrong. Tom said that maybe my vibe was due to the fact that we’re not going to be able to get as much as he had hoped, though we can take part of our pension plan money to make up for it, then pay it back in time, since he’s still 10-15 years away from retirement.

He still thinks it’d be a good idea to get a kiln and that dollmaking might still be possible, but I don’t know. Even if it were, what’s the point of getting all into that just to have the freeloaders disrupt me? They always have to come first. The freeloaders take precedence over everything. I’m afraid to even think of doing something I want to do, cuz every time I do, someone or something comes and either stops me altogether or ruins it for me if I do start to succeed.

PG’s pissing me off again, too. I swear I mean it this time when I say I’m through with them as soon as I get Tasha. First they said she was to be shipped immediately on the 13th, then today I got a message saying she was released from their warehouse on the 17th and would be shipped to me right away, and I’m like – just put the damn doll in the mail and send it to me! What is so fucking hard about that? What is it about that they just don’t get? Oh, and now it’s 7-14 business days rather than 7-10 that I should get her in.

I can’t speak for Florida, but the more I think about it, the more I think Mary’s going to get off fairly easily. That’s because in this state, as Tom and I discussed before, they tend to go harder on the lesser charges as well as those that weren’t premeditated. As twisted as it is, if I had beat the shit out of the black bitch in the heat of the moment as I should have and like I wanted to, I probably would’ve been charged with a misdemeanor (most violent crimes here are considered to be misdemeanors) and gotten the one year of probation they said I’d get. But because the letter was supposed to be planned and because I used the government to deliver it, that’s what made it a felony, and felony or not, that’s why I got such a harsh sentence.

Mary may be as innocent as I am, but child neglect is seen as a more serious thing than threatening letters, and it wasn’t “planned.” Therefore, I don’t think she can get much more time than I got. Nancy I. told me about a guy who put his girlfriend’s kid’s hand on a stove only to get just 5 years probation and absolutely no jail time. So, with the exception of child molestation and cold-blooded murder, the more serious your crime, guilty or not, the lighter they’re likely to go on you. Take the case of that loud-mouthed Laticia; she got 7 years of intense probation just for drugs, according to Mary. That’s a bit overkill for drugs, but that’s the point – she planned to take the drugs. She didn’t just one day suddenly happen to have cocaine fly up her nose in a split second. She knew what she was doing and had time to think about what she was going to do from the moment she went to buy the drugs till she took them.

Even if Mary was totally guilty, it’s a serious charge and no one could prove that she sat back and decided one day that she was going to neglect her kid. So, although I’m no expert, based on just the Arizona case, I’d say she has a good chance of getting let go as soon as the testifying’s done, but what happens in Florida is a complete mystery to me. I know how the southwest is and the northeast, but I don’t know the southeast. Maybe things will balance out. Meaning that if Florida’s got their priorities straight and isn’t as harsh in general, maybe she’ll get the same thing in Gretchen’s case as with James. In both cases, I think the probation is going to far outweigh the jail time. It’s not a sex-related crime, so I doubt they’ll keep her on probation for life, but she’s gotta be looking at least 10 years of probation. I asked her about that, but she hasn’t answered me. Maybe she doesn’t have a clue. Both my vibes and guesses tell me that after she testifies here and stands trial in Florida, she’ll be out between 2005–2008 and she’ll be on probation for 10-20 years.

Hope may’ve been given 40 years, but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she were out in a decade but then had to do 20-40 years pro.

If standard probation can be this stressful and frustrating, I’d hate to see myself on intense pro! Imagine a lifetime of intense pro? You just might as well stay in jail/prison!

The closer Mary gets to closure with both cases, the more likely I’ll be to get vibes, though Florida’s gonna be harder. Cross-country vibing is a bit tough. If she’s still at Estrella in a year and we’re still in this warped state, I’ll read what I can on her when I go to see her.

Another issue is money. Law enforcement is mainly about 3 things. Power, control and money. That’s another reason people get such insane probation time. It’s a business just like any other. The only difference is that this business can get away with being unfair and unreasonable. Nonetheless, the more people they can get on probation and the longer they’re on it, the more money they make.

With my shit luck, I’ll stick around, breathe a sigh of relief once I get down to the last few months, then be told I have to take those bullshit classes.

I totally gotta put my foot down someday. This can’t go on and on and on. I’ve got to fight back. Somehow, someway, even if that means having to give up a lot of things. I mean, I would never complain if we did get rowdy renters, cuz I know that all it takes is one wrong connection to really ruin our lives, but I feel like I’ve done absolutely nothing but let this system walk all over me. There’s got to be something I can do. Doesn’t anyone out there who could help me care? I guess I’m just going to have to help myself. I mean, they’re pushing me over the edge of a cliff here and I can’t take much more of this shit. We all have our breaking points and the harder I’m backed into a corner, the more likely I am to snap. God, I wish I could take society as a whole in the palm of my hand and squash the life and existence right out of it! Excluding those I love, of course. See, it isn’t life that’s been a problem for me so much as other people. It’s people who make my life hell.

The fact that everyone else but myself has any say in my life and what happens to me really pisses me the fuck off. Oh, how I want so bad to tell Scot, “Look. You’re just going to have to compromise with me and meet me halfway. You can have your way about the twice-a-month visits, you can have your way with Casa Grande, but under no circumstances will I be humiliated and made to feel like I’m being molested by having someone watch me piss. It’s a non-negotiable deal. Take it or leave it.”

But I want much more to get the fuck out of here. The only way to end this shit is if I walk away and detach myself from it myself. It’s not going to go away on its own, and if he didn’t test me there, it’d just be something else.

I just want to do things to those fucking freeloaders sooo badly. Things I won’t bother mentioning that are just a fantasy anyway.

I changed half of the betta’s water today and rotated them, which I’ll do weekly. The one that was in the bedroom is now in the kitchen. He’s my favorite. He seems more active, curious and alert. Braver, too. At least it doesn’t matter if any of them are as crazy as the Rat Runner, cuz I’ll never have to handle these fish, and they can’t escape.

Later…

Made it all the way to now without having to run the AC. After that initial cool spell, it warmed back up to where we needed the AC from the late mornings to the early evenings.

I had a dream Teddy Bear sent me a letter. Mean anything? I doubt it, but does it matter?

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17, 2002 Week 10, no Scot. Tom’s had a few days where he’s been out during part of the time he normally stops by, too. I don’t know what I feel stronger; glad that he didn’t come around at all, or bummed that I didn’t get to say no, though I can technically say no any time I want to. This is, after all, our house, even if the state of Arizona seems to think it owns me, the house, my life, etc. I guess you could say I’m gladder that he didn’t show up in the first place, given how far into the sentence I am and the nature of the so-called crime, which isn’t really a crime, but rather a violation of my civil rights.

Anyway, the stock came within 35¢ of selling today. Just maybe it will sell this year after all. The question is will we find a truck?

I decided to chuck the Barbie dolls off my list for now. They’re very nice dolls and I’d very gladly take them if they fell in my lap, but to shell out the $100 the 3 I had picked out would cost would be too much to spend right now on dolls that small. They’re just too damn small. If there weren’t other dolls I want more, then maybe I’d get them, and maybe I’ll get them in the future anyway. For now, I’m going to concentrate on getting the four $40-$50 16” fashion vinyl dolls I want, then I’ll get the 28” $162 porcelain Felicity doll next year.

One of the sites that sells the Playboy dolls sells all 3 of them as a set, which I’ve decided to get. I really do like them all. It’d be cheaper that way too, and then I’d only have to fight for 1 package and not 3. The whole set costs $135, plus shipping. Hopefully, they’ll have more of these dolls at this time next year. Then I can have a collection within a collection, so to speak!

I can’t believe I’m still seeing prairie dogs out there. This is the day we came here exactly 3 years ago and there were no prairie dogs in sight.

And now for some more good news. I got a laser printer! They were selling stuff at work to raise money for charity (United Way) and for just $10, Tom got an ’89 model. He says they’re very reliable and will save us a fortune. That’s cuz this thing doesn’t use ink. It uses toner, which is a form of powder that melts onto the paper. It doesn’t do color, but still, I’ve been dying for one of these things. We don’t have a toner cartridge for it yet which will cost about $40. But the wonderful thing about it is that for just $40, I can print up to 4000 pages of text. A $30 black ink cartridge will only do about 250 pages.

So, while I still can’t afford to print tons of graphics with the inkjet printer, I won’t have to worry about plain black text! Once Mary moves, I can send her everything she’s sent me as far as her story goes and the only real cost will be paper and stamps, and that’s not much compared to if I printed her stuff from ink cartridges. Right now, it would take half a cartridge to print her whole story file.

I’m amazed to find I can still run. The rower gives me backaches, so until I get my bike, I decided to jog as a warm-up prior to working out. You’d think that after all this time of not being consistent with it, I’d either fatigue real fast or get calf burn, but nope. I ran as if the devil himself were chasing me!

I’ve felt much better over the last few days. Not that I was depressed. As long as I can stay home with my husband and never go back to wanting a kid, I shouldn’t get depressed. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I won’t cry my eyes out when Little Buddy dies and things like that. Anyway, although I wasn’t sad, I felt like things were at a standstill. It was like we were in a car that broke down and we were waiting around till someone could give us a lift.

I began tackling Mary’s drafts and I feel so, so sorry for her! The poor girl’s been nothing but brainwashed and abused, so it seems. How can she believe that her mother ever loved her with the way she treated her? You don’t show someone you love them with your fists. You just don’t. Supposedly it was cuz she thought Mary looked like her father, whom she hated, but I think that was just a crutch. If it weren’t that it’d be something else. Maybe she’d say she looked like her old schoolmate who teased and taunted her. It seems people pick some excuse and they latch onto it for dear life.

And how the hell can this father at her old convent insist that God loves everyone, cares about their desires, and answers all prayers? I’m sorry, but that is absolute bullshit. Just pure wishful thinking, if you ask me.

I can relate to how she sought out her mother’s love and acceptance or at least tried to when she was younger. I went through it too, where you try and you try and you try, then by the time you hit your 30s, you just don’t give a damn anymore. But Mary’s only 25. Time will tell how she’ll feel in the future. She has a right to feel and believe whatever she feels and believes just like I do, so if she believes her mother loves her and if she has faith in God, more power to her. I, on the other hand, could never trust and have faith in a God who’s allowed me to go through what I’ve gone through. I can see some of it being a lesson, a test and a strengthening period, but there are limits. There’s a difference between testing and downright punishing!

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2002 Got a 50-page draft from Mary, who says she’s working out extensively, there’s no new news pertaining to her case, Hope’s still there, she has a cold, and almost lost this thing she’s making for Todd. She’s being really crafty, and when the DO came in to search, she found what she was working on, but let her keep it, saying she didn’t see it.

I’m both happy and surprised that Amelia finally arrived. I didn’t expect her till the end of this week, but more likely next week. Now all I have to do is hope Tasha gets here without incident, then I’ll send Mary pictures of both dolls, plus a cute shot of a guppy resting on top of a round flower. Of the 3 fake plants, one’s leaves, the other is grassy, and one has round flowers that face upwards, creating a little bed for the fish.

To my utter surprise yet pleasure, both the stock and the earnings did better than anyone expected, but this doesn’t yet mean my vibe won’t be wrong. I hope this is the 20% where I’m wrong and that the stock does sell. Tom said it very well could sell this week. The sooner it does, the sooner I can order Victoria!

I’ve been right on so far about it being hard to find the truck we want, and I wonder if we ever will. Most people don’t sell junk like we want. Especially if it’s a vehicle where nothing works. Vehicles that are completely dead are usually sent to junkyards to be either dismantled or crushed.

Anyway, although Amelia didn’t look bad in her original outfit, a pastel pink dress, I put her in Twinkle’s outfit and she looks much better. It too, is light pink, but it’s satiny instead of cotton, and it consists of pantaloons and a long-sleeved top with feathers at the shoulders. The outfit goes with her red satin hair ribbon and her fancy satin slippers perfectly, though I decided not to have her hold the parasol she came with. It was a cool parasol too, so I saved it. It’s almost big enough for a real person to use.

Amelia’s 22” tall with blue eyes and very long blond hair that falls to her knees and can be pulled to her feet. She also came with a really nice pendant that I left on her. It goes with Twinkle’s outfit just as well.

My only complaint is that her eyes don’t look quite as nice as they did in her picture. I don’t know if that’s cuz these eyes are different or what, but they’re not Real Eyes like Bailey has. They’re still nice enough, though. Had the Gods allowed me a career making dolls, I’d use Real Eyes. It’d be worth the extra money. The eyes are what really make the doll.

The other thing I got that I love is a single-brew coffeemaker with a permanent filter. It’s much more convenient. I also won’t have to worry about running out of and buying filters anymore.

I told Tom to look for this nail polish I saw in Casa Grande, that I should’ve gotten, that changes colors with movement, but he couldn’t find it. Instead, he got this shiny purple polish that promises rainbows, but the rainbow effect can only be seen when looking at the bottle. On my nails, it just looks like light purple nail polish with glitter. It dries a sort of rubbery feeling too, so I won’t be buying it again. I like the chrome stuff the best.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2002 Today’s Mary’s 25th birthday. Another 5-7 years and she too, will know the agony of a slower metabolism! Nonetheless, I hope she has as good of a birthday as one in jail could possibly have. Hope’s probably out of her hair by now. In her last letter, she told me she was sentenced to 40 years, which I think really means about 12, so by now DOC would’ve come and swiped her. I hope she gets along with her next celly and that they stay together long unless Mary leaves.

I decided what the hell? So I’m redoing my photo albums now.

The weekend was nice. We spent more time together and even laid in bed reading. We haven’t done that in a while. It seems we do most things in spurts, but it makes it all the more special when we do end up doing something we haven’t done in a while. We still have no desire for sex.

I’m also redoing my allergy test. I don’t know, I guess it’s just that I’m so determined to get my way with just one thing regarding my life/body for once. I’ve only taken the nasal spray once in 3-4 weeks, and that in itself is pretty damn good.

Just two weeks and hopefully – hopefully - I’ll have just one more year of dealing with these fucking freeloaders. And of course, no one with the proper authority will give a damn, step forward and say, “Hey, enough is enough. She’s done two years for something she shouldn’t have done two minutes for. Leave her alone and let her get on with her life.”

Instead, I’ll have to be punished with the black bitch for no reason at all for yet another year.

When I think back on the jail experience in general, I can’t believe God would allow me to be treated like such a child all over again in my mid-30s. My mid-30s! If he could let me fall victim to such experiences at that age, he could let it happen at any age, and that’s a really scary thought.

As Tom put it last night, today’s the critical day when the earnings come out and we should get an idea of whether or not we have a shot at the stock selling this year, but I don’t need to see what I already know. I know it won’t sell this year. The vibe is too strong for me to be wrong. Besides, it’s so us. Fate would fuck us over in that department.

Some psychics are good at predicting love, some are good at careers, and I’m just one of those doom psychics, who sees mostly negative things coming. I can’t help but see what I see. I don’t ask to see it, either.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2002 The guppies are here. There are about 20 of them and one looks very pregnant. They don’t lay eggs. They’re livebearers. They also have more of a variety in colors, shapes and sizes than I remembered, though their dominant color is orange. They’re not as nice as the glassfish or the bettas, but they’re nice enough. They range in length from about a half-inch to two inches.

Mary, not surprisingly, sent home pizza and candy.

I deleted all online photo albums except for the land one cuz it’s the most popular and to keep things open and going. Then, once we get a 2-way satellite connection, I’ll redo them.

PG really irks the hell out of me. I am so sick of them and so done with them once I get Amelia and Tasha. They emailed me to tell me they canceled the other Tasha, but would ship the first one out immediately, and I was like, immediately? Shouldn’t that have been done a week ago when the check was cashed? It’s like, just take my damn orders and send me the damn dolls!

This ought to kill any lingering doubts anyone may have as to whether or not there’s a doll curse on me.

At the end of the month, I’ll have been journaling for 15 years!

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 13, 2002 From what I just learned about bettas, they can actually drown if not permitted to get periodic gulps of air! They’re labyrinths. They live 2-3 years, which seems hard to believe.

The plants are already beginning to root in the tank, but not in the betta’s bowls. Perhaps this is because air isn’t being pumped in regularly.

True to vibed, there was a problem with attempting to fix the leaky shower in the master bath. So, when Tom realized he wouldn’t be able to take the panel off without doing any damage, we decided to wait till it came time to sell, then he’ll cut a hole in the panel, fix the problem, then we’ll caulk and cover the seams with wallpaper. I want to paper that room anyway. And maybe the other bath and the kitchen, too. We’re not going to do this anytime soon, though.

I’m also beginning to vibe that the stock’s not going to sell this year, and sadly, I know I can count on there being an 80% chance that I’m right.

Although the house is under a 5-year warranty, we both agreed on not calling Palm Harbor out. Those stupid, illiterate Mexicans would only make matters worse.

I have 552 views and still 10 downloads.

I tried out my coffee bean grinder yesterday and the coffee does taste better, but not as much as I hoped it would. Hopefully, it’ll stay tasting the way it does for longer. That’s the main point. With ground coffee, it starts tasting muddy after a few days to a week, even when it’s kept refrigerated.

PG finally emailed me. They had me so furious and confused for a while there till Tom got up and we spoke. They said Amelia was re-shipped on the 8th, but showed no records of my order for Tasha and would process the order immediately. So I replied back saying, “We seem to be having one problem after another and I’m getting rather frustrated. Either dolls are out of stock, there’s a problem with the delivery, it takes days to get replies back when I leave messages, and now you have no records of my order for Tasha? Forget about processing Tasha’s order if it’s going to cost the regular $40. I mailed you a special offer for her for just $20 that I received in the mail because of my membership. Either charge me the special membership price of $20 or forget it.”

Then when Tom got up he explained to me that they probably showed no record of the order cuz they were looking under my name and not his cuz when we sent in the check for her, it was ordered under his name. Then he checked online and found that they did in fact receive and cash the check on the 7th, so she could very well be on her way. Just hopefully not via UPS.

Anyway, I emailed them again explaining that I misunderstood that they were separate orders and not in my name, and to please cancel ordering a Tasha doll under my name.

Tomorrow’s Columbus Day so I get an extra day off from the freeloaders!

Later…

Tom’s gone to Mary’s to get the oodles of guppies she says she has for us.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2002 Naturally, I haven’t heard back from Paula, but I did hear from Mary. She says she’s been crafty lately, making dream catchers. I assume she’s making them out of frayed blanket fringes. She asked what my two favorite colors are. I don’t know for sure if it’s related to the dream catchers. She wouldn’t say. All she said was that it was a surprise. Anyway, I told her pink and purple were my top two favorites.

She sent more pictures to scan, including a note and a poem from Murphy. I have a few picture sheets to send her of both hers and my pictures, but I have to send them one by one, of course.

I told her, after she asked, that I decided it’d be best to forget about the dollmaking venture and just keep on collecting. I’m so used to doing what others/fate tells me to do that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I suddenly could do what I wanted to do anyway. I’ve learned from experience that it’s best for me to just go where fate leads me. There’s less trouble that way. At least I can still get dolls. I just won’t be able to get as many of the expensive ones as often. Besides, every time I make plans, they fall through. Life really isn’t what we plan it to be, that’s for sure! But most of the unplanned things have been good, so I can’t complain too much. I didn’t plan on meeting Tom and he’s a wonderful thing. So I’ve been as blessed as I’ve been cursed. If I’m not destined to be more than a homemaker, that’s fine as long as I have Tom, animals and hobbies.

She’s going to be in for a real treat over the next 2-3 years, wherever she is. I just printed up 175 envelopes with a zillion different pictures. Naturally, I only put the return address on, since she could move anytime. I printed 1 chipmunk, 1 guinea pig, 1 tiger, 1 cactus, 2 coons, 2 butterflies, 2 canyons, 2 skyscapes, 2 forest, 3 swans, 4 squirrels, 4 rabbits, 4 bears (assortment of regular, polar, panda, koala), 6 rats (mine), 6 waterfalls, 7 birds, 8 mice (mine), 10 ocean, 16 palms, 20 dogs, 32 cats, and 38 flowers.

Still being ignored by PG. The question is, are they intentionally ignoring me, and if so, why? And when am I going to get these damn dolls? The Amelia problems are my compensation for the discount I wasn’t supposed to get, no doubt. I just worry that they’ll recharge us for her when they re-send her. And of course, who knows what trouble I’ll have to go through to get Tasha here. Like I said, I’ll be taking a break from them for a while. They just can’t seem to be able to stick the dolls in the mail and send them to me, though not all of the screw-ups are their fault. If something up there wants me to fight for dolls, then I’ll go through the same shit when it comes time to order the fashion dolls.

The stock very well might not sell this year. At least if worse came to worse and January’s stock fell through, we could always use our tax refund to buy fences, though that would stall it a few more months. Then they really wouldn’t be up till the end of the freeloader’s reign.

I asked Tom, and he thinks that Anne and Harry simply sold their business and moved. They’d be coming up on 70 by now and definitely retired. Where they would move to, other than Florida, is a mystery to me.

Yesterday’s trip to Walmart in Casa Grande was fun, though we didn’t find everything we wanted. They didn’t have any glass fish.

They only had one nice $30 ballerina Barbie, but I said no to it cuz there are other dolls I want more than that right now. I also said no to a coffeemaker that brews by the cup and has a permanent filter, but I do intend to get it eventually. It was only $15. I did get a coffee bean grinder, though. When we go grocery shopping this morning, I’ll pick out some flavored beans. I am sick to death of regular ground coffee! It’s so boring.

We didn’t get an algae eater yet, but we got 3 beautiful bettas for 3 or 4 bucks each. We also got them their own half-gallon bowls, since they can’t live together. They’re also known as Siamese fighting fish. They’ll kill females too, after mating, and not just other males.

Just like at Walmart, they came in tiny plastic cups with lids. The cups were the size of juice cups, smaller than yogurt cups. They don’t need much space, though we wanted to give them more than what they had.

The one on the kitchen island is mostly royal blue with hues of dark red, the one in my office is lavender and red, and the one by the bed is turquoise with traces of green. They’re a good size, too. Like 4 inches long and I love how they appear magnified when looking into the bowl at them at certain angles. They have long shimmering fins and tails. They have long fins (if that’s what they’re called) streaming from their undersides, too. It looks almost like velvet fringes hanging from them. They’re easily 3-4 times bigger than the glass fish. They’re much braver too, swimming up to the top when I stick my finger just through the surface.

The one in the kitchen is the most skittish, the one in the office is the bravest, and the one by the bed is the most active. Every now and then they break through the surface and take a gulp of air for some strange reason.

They only eat a few pellets a day. They can even go days without eating. These pellets are tiny, too. Smaller than coffee grinds. They cost virtually nothing to maintain. The bottle of food I got them will last forever. All I have to do is change 1/3 of their water weekly.

We also got a packet of 6 live plant bulbs, guaranteed to grow in 20 days, so they say. I stuck one in with each of the bettas, and the other 3 in with the glass fish, along with the 3 fake plants I got that are weighted down with plastic bases. I buried the bases under the gravel and took Barbie out. Now it looks more like an aquarium is supposed to look.

We got colorful gravel that’s similar to the glass fish’s gravel, and even more colorful beadlike gravel for added colors. I think they really are tiny beads. Sometimes a few even float.

The renters are definitely still in back. We passed a guy and a little boy in the white van as we were returning home yesterday morning and we waved to each other.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11, 2002 Paula left a message yesterday asking how I was doing. She said she tried emailing me, but couldn’t do it.

What does she mean, she couldn’t do it? Can she be that dumb?

I emailed her a message as she asked me to, asking her if she’s gotten/read my journals and what dolls she likes best, but I’m sure I won’t get any answers. No one’s answering me lately! Not PG, not Mary, no one.

I considered maybe writing a letter to Anne and Harry, updating them on my life since leaving Phoenix (omitting the freeloaders, of course), but to my surprise, I couldn’t find them. I remember the street they lived on in W. Springfield, but I can’t remember the house number. I can’t find them listed at their house in W. Springfield or at LaRagione’s in Springfield. I even checked Florida, knowing that like most older people from that area, that’s where they’d go upon retiring. So unless they moved to Florida and got an unlisted number, it’s like they don’t even exist. I wonder if something might’ve happened to them. I’ll do a reverse number lookup later on and see what I can come up with.

I was surprised to see an iguana munching on a piece of bread I threw out yesterday. I didn’t think they ate bread. The prairie dogs are still out, but not much.

There were horse tracks in front. I guess someone’s horse got loose. Either that or someone came snooping by on a horse. Well, I’ve seen them run loose before. If they let their dogs run loose, why not their horses, too?

Over the weekend at some point, Tom’s going to go to Mary’s to pick up some guppies. At nearly $4 each, we can’t get 20-30 glass fish, so to up our population, we’ll just take some of Mary’s many guppies. Having just a few fish is too little, even in a 15-gallon tank. It’ll look better with more fish in it. We still plan to get some more glass fish, though, and bettas. In fact, Tom will be in any sec, then he’s going to sleep till around 9:00, and then we’re going to hit some stores in Casa Grande, rather than Phoenix cuz Phoenix is nearly twice as far.

I put one of my Barbies in a swimsuit and stuck her in the tank. She looks so cool floating at the top of the tank and the fish seem rather infatuated with her. They like to hang out under her. They like her more than the mouse tube that sits on their floor.

So, we’ve made it through week 9 of no home visits. It seems logical, though, that there’d be at least one more this year if he does have a quota, cuz 7 visits seem like a rather odd amount and that’s how many times he’s been here so far this year. The quota, no doubt, also depends on the charges, the length of the probation, and how much time the person has left.

I asked Tom if he thought Ma was stingy or cheap to only give $100 for Christmas when she’s got as much money as she does. He feels that in light of how many people she pays out to that’s a reasonable amount.

Yes, I agree. However, $25 for anniversaries is a joke. What much can two people get for $25 these days anyway? He said that idea was based on going out to eat, and most couples can eat for $25.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2002 As usual, I didn’t hear back from PG, yet they had all day to reply to me. I doubt they could really be that busy, either. I think they’re just a bunch of lazy, incompetent people. That’s no doubt part of why their prices are so low. If I don’t hear from them today, I’ll email them yet again to get my two lousy questions answered. I’d just call them if they had an 800 number, but they don’t. Meanwhile, someday Amelia and Tasha will be here. Someday.

Tom said he’s seen the fish eat, but I have yet to see them do so. I did see one take in a flake, make like it was munching on it for a sec, spit it out, then repeat this scenario two more times. They must be eating, though, since it’s been nearly a week unless they’re surviving on water alone. I suggested to Tom that we feed them just once a day, cuz when I went to pour in a pitcher of water like I do every few days as the water evaporates, it stirred up tons of food that had settled on the bottom.

I asked Tom if I really looked the 130 pounds I’d weigh on a doctor’s weight-balanced scale (this scale says 126) and he said no. I agree. I think I look more like 120 and he says 110. So I asked him, is it really the working out and the building of muscle that’s put weight on me? He said that was most definitely it and that also, when you get older, your bones and muscles increase in density but then decrease when you get old. Once Ma got into her 70s, she lost like 30-40 pounds, after spending most of her adulthood at 200 pounds.

I still think I’m what most people would describe as chunky. Not fat, but chunky. 120-130 pounds is still too much for someone my height to carry even if it’s mostly muscle, and yes, my weight jumped a couple of pounds as soon as I upped my weights (I up them in 5-pound increments.) I’m up to 50 pounds on my biceps curls and 60 pounds on the incline bench press. That’s a lot of weight to push and pull at my height. I’m sure there are a lot of people closer to 6’ that couldn’t do it.

Still no bad vibes as the 10/30 progress report nears, but if there is, I probably won’t know it till early November. It still wouldn’t surprise me if the class issue was brought up again. After all, it’d be something I don’t want to do, so why not?

I still think that the right thing for Scot to have done would be to recommend early release to the judge, despite the freeloader’s protests, simply because it’d be the right thing to do in light of how harsh the sentence is for such petty shit, even though his recommendations would fall upon deaf ears. In other words, the judge would gladly listen to Scot if he had something bad to say about me, but if it were in my favor, he wouldn’t want to hear it.

The sad thing about it is that I know I’ll just have a whole new slew of appointments after this shit. I see a definite pattern since being on my own. First there were the regular therapy, asthma and allergy appointments, then the ear appointments, then the braces, and now the freeloaders. What’s next? It’s like something wants to keep me getting out regularly, and because I’m more isolated here, the appointments are more frequent.

So, I have mixed emotions about getting the freeloaders out of my life. Sure I want them out of my life once and for all. It’s been 6 years. But I don’t want to be trading in one problem for another like I always seem to do. I don’t want a whole new source of trouble that I’m powerless to fight and that’ll occupy so much of my life for so many years to come.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2002 What a frightening world we live in. I know it’s just TV and that anything said could be bullshit, but the more I watch the court channel and its featured cases, the more I see that the “justice” system really doesn’t have a damn thing to do with justice for the most part. It’s about winning. It’s about power, control, who you are, where you are, etc. Like it or not, financial status, race and gender really do matter for those involved. It’s always been that way and I think it always will be. Having money and being male certainly helps, and of course, being a minority helps too, whereas that used to hurt. It’s like society’s trying to make up for the way minorities were treated a century ago by giving them the upper hand which makes absolutely no sense to me. It can’t and won’t change the fact that we stole the Indian’s land, that we made slaves of blacks, etc. We’ve simply got too many people living in the past. Judges feel like they have no choice but to let guilty blacks get off or else they’ll cry racism and start riots like they did 10 years ago in LA. They’re such poor losers who can’t handle shit. Instead, they lash out at the whole world, no matter how many innocent people they may be taking their anger out on along the way and hurting. So many people want to blame the wrong people for their troubles and life’s unfairness. In North Carolina, a billionaire woman got only 57 days in jail for killing her boyfriend cuz she was rich, and the other inmates wanted to harm her cuz they got years for drugs and writing bad checks.

But it wasn’t the billionaire’s fault. They should be pissed at the jury. They’re the ones who gave her the sentence she got.

Anyway, if I were black, I’d be pissed too, at seeing white pigs get off after beating a fellow black on tape, but to take it out on the whole city would be no way to handle the ordeal. If they wanted to go after someone, they should’ve gone after the people involved.

We really fucked up by letting those blacks stick around after they were freed. Yes, they should’ve been freed. No one should be a slave. However, didn’t they know they’d just lash out at us and cause us a legacy of hell by not deporting them back to Africa where they belong? Of course they were going to take all their anger out on us and kill us and rob us and so on and so forth.

What’s scary isn’t just the fact that too many innocent people are getting convicted and or receiving overly harsh sentences for their crimes, guilty or not, but the amount of incompetence on the part of the investigators, lawyers, judges and other law enforcement personnel, and the biased nature of the people involved. People are gullible. They’re going to believe what the cops tell them. So, if you tell a reporter that so and so’s guilty, they’re going to believe it without question and they’re going to do everything they can to taint and hurt their case, even if they just may happen to be innocent. Cops, lawyers and judges also don’t have the balls to stand up and admit when they’ve screwed up, and furthermore, wouldn’t be held accountable if they did. Instead, they’re all concerned with how they’d look and with covering everyone’s asses, including their own. Image is everything to them.

It’s really scary how so many people are being convicted for the wrong reasons. You’re supposed to be convicted on evidence, but instead we have so many people being convicted on their behavior, their beliefs, their appearance, their jobs, the things they eat, etc. This puts the defendants in a tough spot, cuz then they have to decide whether or not they should give up who they are and be somebody else, somebody that they’re not, just to try to please those that hold their fate in their hands, and be made to feel like ass-kissers. Or do they stand by their right to be themselves?

I hear so many convicts who insist they’re either innocent or were simply given too much sentence for so little crime, say that they once believed that the right people would step forward and help them.

Yeah, that’s what I thought too, only to find out that after bending over backward for this state, giving them this, giving them that, doing this, doing that, none of it ever mattered. Just why did they have me get people like Mary to write a character witness statement for me if they knew damn good and well that it was useless and not something that would even be considered, let alone used?

No, we can’t always help us help ourselves, and no, the truth won’t always set us free.

I decided it’d be best just to forget about the kiln and the whole dollmaking idea. I know when something’s not meant to be and when to give up, and this is one of those times. It’s so obvious that something up there doesn’t want me making dolls. Something more powerful than I could ever be and that I’m not about to mess with. I’ve learned from past experiences what can happen when I try to rebel against fate. I still don’t understand why I’m not allowed to do what I want to do with my life when it comes to jobs that go beyond my usual role as a homemaker. It’s like society wants me to get with the times and God doesn’t. I just can’t figure this one out any more than I can figure out the one where he allows people to get away with wronging me and protects them, but all I can do is just hope he has his reasons, though I can’t imagine what justifiable reasons he could possibly have. I don’t know, maybe there is an afterlife and in that life, I’m going to be able to do what I want with my life. Or maybe there was a past life where I had it all and now I’m being compensated for it.

Anyway, I simply couldn’t get the stuff. I’d be spending more time fighting for supplies than using them. Even if I could snap my fingers and have everything I could possibly need, then what? It’s a bit of an overwhelming, complex thing when I think about it. There’d so much to learn, so much to do. It’s not that I’m not capable of learning. I’ve learned a lot about a lot of things, and at the risk of sounding stuck-up, I know more about more things than most people ever will.

But having many skills, talents and the ability to learn fast and well doesn’t necessarily mean one’s meant to be more than just a homemaker. Being a homemaker is great. I love it and I wouldn’t trade it for the world just cuz I was suddenly doing something else, but having more to do with my time would’ve been nice. And that doesn’t mean spicing up my life with wrongly being thrown in jail, either!

I’m afraid to bitch too much about boredom (though I don’t get bored too often) cuz every time I do the shit seems to hit the fan. It’s like something up there seems to think that just because I could use a little more activity in my life at times it has to be negative, wrong, and unfair activity.

Anyway, I think I’m going to put off PG’s fairies for a while. Not only do I want to take a little break from PG, though I still have my membership and another free shipping and 25% off coupon, but I also want to concentrate on fashion dolls for a while. They’re really nice and I really dig them lately. Aside from Felicity, which I hope to get with January’s stock (if there is a January’s stock), there are 5 $45 fashion dolls I’d like to have. The two 16” Playboys, a couple of Barbies (though one’s of some black or Hispanic pop singer I’ve never heard of), and 16” Mei Li.

I emailed PG, who’ll hopefully reply tomorrow and not after I email them a second time, asking exactly when Amelia was re-sent and when and if Tasha’s been shipped yet. Of course, she should be on her way, but you just never know. Either way, I’m sure there’ll be a problem. Of the 10 PG dolls I have, only one got here right away. All the others had delivery screw-ups or were out of stock. It was like this with the HSC, too. Only Ashton-Drake was reliable, but their dolls took forever anyway. Like 3 weeks.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2002 There’s been another picture download from one of my photo albums, but I can’t say which one, of course.

I’m wondering if these fish are going to starve themselves to death. They don’t appear to be eating. I throw the food in and they dart towards it but don’t eat it. Yet they seem healthy and energetic enough. Maybe they wait for it to break down or something.

It’d be nice to get the other colors they have, bright orange, yellow and blue, and then find out about breeding after we find out what these fish are. After doing some online research, we think they may be some sort of tetrafish. He says these fish are probably males because, in the animal world, the males tend to be more colorful and nicer looking (which God made up for with the human species).

When Tom gets up, he’s going to stop at the Maricopa box to see if poor Amelia’s been stuck on their shelves. If not, I’ll email PG, of course, and play yet another game of catch-the-doll-if-you-can!

Then, Tom will swing over to Casa Grande to pick up a few groceries and stop in Pick-a-Pet to see what fish/supplies they carry. I doubt they’ll have what we’re looking for. I think that if we want a good variety of fish and supplies we’ll have to go to a major chain store like Petco.

As soon as I’m awake when the doctor’s office is open, I have to make an appointment to have my ear canal cleaned. Oh, why couldn’t I have been born with two normal ears?! I hate seeing this guy. I hate having to spend hours just to get a procedure done that takes a couple of minutes, but there are not many people I can go to that does what he does. He’s a specialty doctor.

Now for my incredible news of the day. Well, let’s just say I’m kind of glad our seemingly hopeless stock hasn’t sold yet, cuz you won’t believe what I found online! I never even knew such a thing existed. Well, as I’ve written, my 16” vinyl fashion doll Tyler makes Barbie seem phony as all hell, but the 16” fashion dolls I saw tonight make Tyler herself seem phony as all hell! They’re Playboy dolls that are not only extremely realistic-looking but they’re said to have skin that feels realistic, too! They’re anatomically correct with no visible joints (unlike with Tyler) and come fully dressed, with stands and papers. And all for an amazing $40-$50!!! I won’t be getting those PG fairies or the Mei Li fashion doll anytime soon, that’s for sure!

If they’re anatomically correct, though, does that mean they come with rooted pubic hair too, or what?

These dolls are so realistic that Tom insisted the one I liked best was a picture of a real person, but after reading the words and finding a site that has the real Playboy model holding the doll, I can assure you it is a doll as realistic as it is. And is it ever! The definition of muscle tone and body contours are amazing. Something that Tyler has absolutely none of. She’s better proportioned and more realistic than Barbie but has no real definition of any kind. You’d never see a picture of her and think she was a real person. You can see she’s a doll; just a damn good one.

Anyway, the one I liked best that I can’t wait to get if this stock would just hurry up and sell once and for all, is Victoria Silvstedt. I never heard of her, but I don’t care. The second one I want to get and whom I also never heard of is Dalene Kurtis. Their faces aren’t great and they’re both blondes with blue eyes, but they’re fabulous nonetheless. They also have a Karen McDougal doll, who’s got auburn hair, but I don’t know if I’ll get this one. These are the first 3 in a series. Seeing that these dolls are vinyl, I would think they’d have rooted hair.

Victoria has medium-length hair and is posed with one leg out to the side and one hand on her hip. The other hand’s at her mouth, sort of touching her lip suggestively. She wears a black bikini, which I assume is a G-string, and an open maroon satin robe, and she supposedly comes with black shoes, a necklace, a stand, and papers. I’m emailing them to verify that yes, she does come fully dressed, etc. This one’s $40.

Dalene’s $50 with massive boobs, but they both sure are unique to anything I’ve got and will add major variety to my collection. She wears a halter with short denim cut-offs. The halter represents the American flag. The bodice has red and white stripes and the thin shoulder straps are blue with white stars. Her hair is shoulder-length. Her pose is a bit harder to describe. I’ve only seen her picture from the side. She looks towards the side and I guess she has one leg slightly behind her, one hand on her hip, and the other arm is bent a quarter of the way at her side, making her hand about chest level. This one I hope to get in December or January.

I can’t wait for that damn stock to sell!

This site had several different lines of fashion dolls ranging from $25 to over $100. They even had a full-figured doll that was both nice and realistic.

Of all the different sites I checked that sold the Playboy dolls, one of them said that each doll came in a “unique environment.” Whatever the hell that means, I don’t know. This same site said the dolls came with several accessories too, but they didn’t say what they were. Probably just the stand, shoes, and necklace.

Got up at 3:30 which means I’ll be going to bed right around the time I hate the most. I’d really appreciate it, though, if the flyers and freeloaders would let me sleep so I can go to the pet store sometime this week.

Later…

It totally, totally figures. I mean, it never fucking fails! Tom had to call PG cuz the doll was returned! They don’t know why. I know why. Cuz I’m cursed with trying to get dolls and I’ll be totally damned if I’ll even think of trying to make them. Like whatever’s cursing me would let me? Like it or not, I’m here to serve others and do what they want me to do. Sometimes I’m okay with it, sometimes it’s at my own expense, but I have no choice, and if I try to fight it, that’ll only be making more trouble for myself. There’d be no way I could get all my supplies in person, be it for myself or for others. And not that God would allow me to go into business, but if I did, it wouldn’t look very good if I had to tell 9 out of 10 customers that their doll was going to have to wait due to having trouble chasing down their greenware in the mail. Most people don’t understand curses and when they saw there were delays time and time again, they’d naturally assume it was my own lack of competency. Meanwhile, I’ll just remain a struggling collector.

This all happened when I was asleep, so I hope he thought to have her shipped via UPS. A curse is a curse, though, so I’m sure there’ll be problems with that, too. It’s just that I feel I’ve got to do something. I wonder if he asked about Tasha. I emailed these questions to him. After I get the 2 fairies, 3 fashions, and Felicity doll I so have my heart set on, I’m going to stop the mail-order dolls and make periodic trips to DBS and maybe even San Diego where PG’s store is.

Tom says Walmart sells bikes for as low as $100. Good. Now I can revise my list.

He said the store in Casa Grande does sell fish, but they won’t have any live plants till Wednesday. What we have are glass fish and they’re not naturally colored (I figured as much). They’re injected with color. How utterly painful it must be for such tiny things to be injected with needles! I wonder if this means we could have a mix of sexes and if their colors fade over time.

They replied about the Playboy doll, saying that yes, the doll comes with everything.

I went to make the ear appointment only to learn my 3 referrals had expired. The doctor would never renew them without seeing me first since it’s been over a year, so once these inhalers run out, since I know I’m forever stuck on snot spray, I’ll see him and get new referrals.

Later…

Well, I’ll be damned. From what Tom says in his reply, it wasn’t the PO’s fault. Tom received a letter in the mail from PG saying the doll was returned to them and this is what prompted him to call them. I guess maybe they tried to use UPS to deliver to the PO Box. He had them resend it to the PO so as not to confuse the already very confused idiots with changing addresses while two dolls are on the way. We’ll probably get some sort of coupon for the fuck-up. Yeah, free shipping which is no biggie. It’s better than nothing, but $5-$10 off each of the two $25 fairies I want would be nice! Then again, shipping’s $5-$7, so that’s close enough and good enough, I guess, but it’d be even nicer if I could just order dolls and get them!

Who’ll mess up with Tasha? The PO or PG?

Tom also said that the pet store people said the colors in the fish would fade but didn’t ask how long it’d take. What do we do then? Get ink and syringes and refill them like with cartridges?

Also, the store had some decorations but no tank backgrounds. I don’t really need backgrounds, though. Also, they had bettas in various types of bowls but says we’d be better off getting them at Walmart or K-Mart.

Lastly, he watched the fish closely and says they’re definitely eating. Well, I guess so. They’re still alive after all.

Later…

I took my small crying Indian doll and undid her two braids. Then I wrapped the hair in two plaits. Plait weaving looks cool. It’s so Indian, too.

I’m working on the ’96 file now, and boy was I confused over the sexual bullshit I was going through with Tom at that time! At the same time I was confused, I always felt he was deliberately holding back cuz of his own lack of desire to be a father. I think I still believe that and that I always will. He just made one excuse after another about changing and seeking help and was just too content to be the way he was. I still believe that at the same time, he didn’t want a kid, didn’t want to change his sexual ways, and didn’t want to get help, a part of him also got some sadistic pleasure in seeing me turned off and unsatisfied.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2002 I’m pretty tired right now, but can’t sleep yet. I hope the United States Air Force will let me sleep tomorrow. I barely slept 7 hours, which of course, is like 5 for me. I’m sure I’ll sleep 10-11 hours tomorrow. At least I know it’ll be easier to fall back asleep in the comfort of my own home and bed, versus on a joke of a mattress in jail with people screaming non-stop. Believe me, I never take my freedom for granted and neither will Mary when she’s free. I may not have total freedom, but I have a lot more than I did in Estrella Jail!

I look so forward to going to the pet store! I want a total of about 20 neons and 3-5 bettas. I just wish they all weren’t nearly $4 a pop. That adds up.

What a boring life these fish must have. At least rodents can go wheeling and can play with each other. All these things can do is just sit there and exist. The bettas were in single small jars. They barely had room to move.

Anyway, it won’t matter how timid the fish may be since I don’t have to handle them and since they can’t escape and run around the house loose. I ended up getting some good shots of them. At first I thought they’d be hard to shoot as small as they are.

I am so fucking sick of having to chase down dolls. I’m beyond sick of it! The question is, who fucked up this time around? PG or the PO? Maybe this PO throws their packages on their shelves till the people ask for them like they did in Tempe. I’m sure there’ll be a problem with Tasha too, but of course there’ll be no problem whatsoever with getting the sewing machine. I’ve never had a problem getting any packages other than dolls, so I know it’s a curse connected to the dolls. Of course, this excludes bogus packages Paula claimed to have sent that she never really did. Some friend she’s turned out to be. I haven’t heard squat from her, so I don’t bother. All she could do is say she liked the stuff, after I had to ask, then bullshit me about calling. Believe me, though, I’m actually glad she didn’t call. I don’t want to hear the same old shit and not be able to get a word in edgewise. At the same time, she’s been frustrating to deal with and I’m sick of her, I feel sorry for her. The woman’s never going to change and she’s going to be the same old sorry loser all her life, asking for most of the problems she has. I know it may sound cruel, but after all this time, you’d think she’d have matured a bit and learned from some of her many dumb mistakes. Instead, she’s just going to continue her life on Section 8, abusing her kid, and hanging out with one loser after another. These are criminals who use and abuse her in every way possible. Why is she so into that shit? I just don’t get it. Does she really have no self-respect?

Later…

Although I slept wonderfully and didn’t get up till 3:30, my day hasn’t been off to a great start. First of all, the experiment is a bust. I wasn’t sneezing literally non-stop, but it was bad enough and I had to go back on my spray. At least they have a spray for this shit.

Secondly, Little Ratsy’s gone. I’ve had it with this psycho bullshit. She and the Rat Runner aren’t pets, they’re animals. Wild fucking animals and I don’t need their shit. I hung onto the Rat Runner for Little Buddy’s sake, but the instant he goes, she goes. I was able to grab the Rat Runner by the tail to move to the tank for cage-changing, but I had to play tag with Little Ratsy for a while in order to move her and that’s when I was like, fuck this bullshit! And she would’ve gladly bitten me if she could have, too.

I let Dave know, in regard to some of the gay jokes I sent him, I have nothing against gays, of course, not that he’s necessarily one to read things in that aren’t there or blow things out of perspective.

I’ve decided that I’ve had it with PO not being able to deliver most of the dolls without some sort of problem. Even a small PO can’t handle a simple task like this, so after they’ve had enough time to fuck up with Tasha too, I’m going to have PG use UPS from now on. A doll is worth being woken up for, if I’m asleep when they come, and it’s not like I’m getting dolls every day or even every week. That’s the only way around this doll curse that I can think of. If that doesn’t work, nothing will. Unless PG sent the damn thing to the wrong address, it should’ve been here by now, and I know that if it isn’t here by now, it’s not going to be here by Monday either. If it is there, then it’s sitting on their shelf cuz they were too lazy to fill out a slip and notify us if they didn’t misdeliver it. They don’t have lockers there, unfortunately, either.

PG might be confused as to where to send catalogs, but I’m not worried about that. I don’t need the catalogs cuz I can see what they have online.

Getting MP3s is getting harder these days. Not because there aren’t plenty of them out there, but because MP3s get more and more popular, you have to wait forever to get most songs. Sooner or later there’ll be no one left buying CDs from which to rip the tracks in the first place.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 4, 2002 And so it’s been half a decade today that I’ve been smoke-free! Yeah, and 20 pounds heavier, too. At least I can breathe. I’d probably be around 110-115 pounds if I still smoked and was still alive, but not 95-100 cuz of my age. Instead, I’m a non-smoking, middle-aged person between 120-125 and I probably always will be, but like I said, I can breathe!

There were a couple of booms at 11:15 today, an hour after I got up, and nothing else between then and when we left at 1:30. We returned at around 5:00 and had to run the AC for a while when we got in, but now it’s off for the night.

Anyway, I don’t like this booming. Especially if they’re going to go back to doing this 2-4 times a week. I hope not! I could never learn to sleep through that shit. I’m not like Tom. I thought Maricopa was too built up for that shit these days? There’s yet another new house, but it’s pavement that matters. Until these nearby roads are paved, the houses won’t double or triple in value. We talked about splitting our land and selling off the 5 acres between us and the renters before we sold the 5 acres in front around the same time. Who knows how or when we’ll go about doing it for sure, or where we’ll go from here? Only time will tell.

Although I’m doing well so far with my no-nasal-spray experiment, it’s too soon to tell Scot about it, so I said no when asked if there were any changes. I am sneezing a little more, but if I can go a month or two with no 24-hour sneezing fits, then I’ll tell him about it.

Anyway, after informing me of how much time I have left like he almost always does as if I don’t know how to read a calendar, we jumped across the street to Circle K. There I peed, since he didn’t test me yet again, then grabbed some water. He grabbed soda and a cookie bar, then we hit the road to have fun shopping. Of course the car had to give us shit along the way and cost us more money than we planned on spending, but it kind of did us a favor in the end by saving us an extra stop. Originally, we were going to go to the bookstore, Walgreens, an office supply store and a pet store, but instead of Walgreens and the pet store, we went to Walmart, though we do still intend to go to a pet store.

Our first stop was the bookstore and it may be the best one yet! They had an awesome selection. The only other author whose books I like besides authors of horror and suspense is VC Andrews. Most of her books are 5-book series, and normally, I can’t find the whole series whenever I go to stores. This place, though, had not only the full series, but a series I didn’t even know existed! She’s a very repetitious writer, but she’s good. I enjoy her soap-like sagas.

They don’t give much credit for books you bring in, though, so we may use a couple of different stores. A lot of the books I got today were on sale for a buck. I got something like 20 books, too.

Our second stop was an office supply store where I was really surprised to find they didn’t have any ink refills, so I restocked my white and colored paper. The colored paper is the same 5-color pack I had before with pink, blue, yellow, lime and orange.

So I grabbed some M&Ms and we headed for the car. That’s when Tom noticed the leak and found water was leaking from the radiator. Because we knew Walmart was close by, we stopped there so he could get water and other stuff to pour into it.

We split up and agreed to meet by the restrooms. I went and grabbed two 3-packs of flavored Chap Sticks, so I got 6 different flavors. I love this brand. There’s no rollerball to get stuck, and I dig the glittery tubes they’re in. They even come with colored plastic jewels on top of the caps! I think I’ll save them to decorate something with.

The puzzles and porcelain dolls were boring (I’m not surprised the porcelain dolls were a bore), but I apparently meant it when I said no more Barbies unless I found any spectacular ones. This one’s way cool! It’s Barbie as Rapunzel. I now have a total of 20 Barbies, even if they’re all not literally Barbies. Some are brunettes, some are redheads, and of course, I have a black one and one that looks sort of Indian.

Anyway, this one’s got really long hair. After I got her out of her box, I noticed the hair in back was only to her waist, something I couldn’t tell when she was in her box. She came with a hair extension attached to a band with Velcro, so I clasped it onto the ends of the hair in back so her hair was the same length both in front and back. The long part is adjustable. You can pull it long or wind it shorter with a rope in back that pulls it in through the crown of her head.

She came with a musical hairbrush and pink pumps. Because her beautiful gown is so long, I took off her pumps and gave them to another Barbie in a short pink dress that needed them. Her dress is stunning. It’s pink and lavender with gold accents to match her gold crown. There’s a chiffon-like layer hanging in front that’s speckled with gold glitter. Even the sheer frosted sleeves are nice. The pearly sleeves are just as shiny as the rest of the dress. The sleeves are tapered in at the elbows with rosebuds. There’s a rosebud at her chest too, and a rosebud attached to a pink ribbon that covers the Velcro band of the hair extension.

I wish I could send Mary pictures of her and the fish, but I can’t for two reasons. One is that I don’t want to get it back, and two is my color ink is shot. The cartridge is simply too old and we don’t have the extra money right now for new ones. I emailed pictures to the other Mary.

After Tom grabbed ink and car stuff, we headed for the fish section. There I got clear plastic jewel-like rocks to scatter across the bottom of the tank. They don’t show up all that great cuz they match the mix of neon colors in the gravel, but they still look cool.

Then he showed me their fish and I became pretty certain we wouldn’t be getting guppies. Guppies are dull-looking compared to what we got and what we’re going to get! I never knew such fish existed. I forgot the name of the ones we got, but for nearly $4 each, we got 3 small neon-colored fish. We only got 3 cuz we want to make sure they live before we get anymore, but oh how colorful they are! I got a pink one, a lime green one, and a royal purple one. The whole fish isn’t colored. Just the outer top part and part of their undersides. It almost looks like someone tried to trace them with markers. The rest of the fish are rather transparent. They all only have one color, but they’re so neat! They go so well with the gravel. They also had blue, yellow and other colors, too. It’d be nice if they were a little bigger, but I totally dig them. I never thought I’d get into fish, though they could never replace rats. In fact, if the only two animals I could have were fish or guinea pigs, I’d take the pig.

Then there were the bettas. They were way cool and I intend to get a few of these. These are bigger colorful fish that need no filters or pumps. They even need to live alone or else they’ll fight. Only the males are colorful, from what we saw. They have some that are solid metallic blue colored, some are aqua and royal blue colored, some are emerald and blue, and some have reds in them. All they need is a small little bowl like what you’d stick goldfish in. I thought I’d throw one in the office, one on the kitchen island, and one in the bedroom.

We have to wait about a month before getting the algae-eater so there’ll be enough algae build-up for them to eat.

We still have to get stuff for them to swim through and hide in and maybe some sort of backing for the back of the tank. Tom said they have these really cool reflective backings. We might get them a live plant to nibble on too, though we can’t stick too much in there. The tank’s only 15 gallons.

As always, I hated the city noise and the crowds so it was so nice to know we were leaving the city and didn’t have to stay and live in it. It was also nice to be able to see pregnant women and not feel a stitch of depression or envy like I would’ve 5 years ago.

When we left the store, I noticed a couple of Mexicans sitting in a car next to ours with their hood propped open. I was like, oh great! Just what I need! To sit in this city a few feet away from them all over again. Just when I thought they’d blast base while Tom propped our own hood to pour the stuff in, the guy in the driver’s seat relieved my fears by letting me know when he made a call with his cell phone that his key had broken off in the ignition. He wasn’t about to thump no base through my skull!

I went through my closet and drawers and pulled out things that are too small, yet nice enough material to use for sewing. Once I had it all accumulated, I decided I had enough and didn’t need to stop in a sewing store for material. I thought I was going to have to stop for closures, but nope. Tom beat me to it. It was actually at the grocery store that he found hook-and-eye clasps, snaps, elastic and Velcro. This Velcro, however, isn’t recommended for sewing. That’s okay, though. I’m sure it’ll come in handy for something else one of these days.

I decided to make a ‘joke’ file and keep all my jokes together in one place. Mary’s going to be in for a ton of laughs!

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 2002 When Amelia isn’t here by tomorrow like she’s supposed to be, I’ll email PG Monday. This will be the first time an out-of-stock doll had problems getting to me, but you know, I’m really getting sick of this and it’s not making me want to even think about making dolls! Why can’t I just order a doll and get it? Why am I so cursed with getting dolls? If I have to fight tooth and nail just to get them, I’m certainly not going to be able to make them. Meanwhile, just like with every other non-doll-related item, the sewing machine will have no problem getting to me.

They’re still working in back. I guess the renters are still living there, too. Maybe I just can’t see the shit they’ve got strewn all over as much since that big rainstorm we had made the trees and bushes denser.

I’m also sick of these two big brown dogs that come traipsing onto our land regularly and I think they’re connected to the renters, too. But how did they go from having one dog that was tied down to two that are constantly on the loose? Are these the worker’s dogs? Other renters? Or could they live entirely somewhere else?

Since it’s not cloudy today, it’s a little warmer out. Earlier, it was actually cooler outside than inside. It was 73° in here when I got up at 11:00.

I’ll probably sleep till 2:00 tomorrow, then we’ll leave at 3:00. We’ll stop at Circle K after seeing Scot, then we’ll go to the pet store, the bookstore and Walgreens. We’ll have to stop at an office supply store too, cuz he was too tired to stop today for ink and paper.

I’ve been asking myself what bothers me about this platonic relationship we’ve got going here, and I’ve finally realized that it’s not the platonic part of it that bothers me, it’s the fact that I always enter into his reasons for why he can’t or won’t do something pertaining to sex. Sometimes it was cuz of his being sick or sore, but the bulk of the time, as I said to myself, notice how the word “you” usually applies when he’s explaining why he can’t or won’t do something?

Why can’t he just admit, like I did, that he simply isn’t in the mood? Simply isn’t interested? Why must he put it on me and say it’s cuz I’m not interested? Why is it that it’s almost always me? Something I wear, something I say, something I do, etc. What did he marry me for if I was such a turn-off in one way after another?

What bothers me more than us being just “damn good friends,” is the risk he’s obviously willing to take. I know he has nothing to worry about, but doesn’t he ever worry about losing me over this? Most women, though I’m certainly not most women, would walk on account of all these reasons he finds to avoid her that’s supposedly her fault, be it directly or not. He says he accepts me as I am and that’s all well and good, but this situation makes me feel as if he’s taking my existence for granted.

I never blamed him for my lack of desire, so why must he do so to me? Why must he be so stubborn? I told him the truth – that it just got old. Not bad, but old. It’s nothing he did, it’s not that I don’t love him or find him attractive, it just got old. The only thing that would be different now if we were getting it on would be that I wouldn’t utter a complaint about the not cumming. Naturally, though, back when I wanted a kid and he said he did too, that was different. Then I had every reason to complain, and that’s another example right there; whether or not he wanted a kid, instead of saying he’d seek help in 3 years if he still wasn’t cumming, couldn’t he have said either, “I’m happy the way I am,” or, “I simply don’t want to change?” Instead, 98% of it was because of me. I pressured him, wore a too-short skirt in public, said this, said that, etc.

I just don’t understand why so many people need scapegoats, be it illnesses, injuries or other people as their source of excuses. Can’t people be honest about their reasons or say “I don’t know” if they don’t know for sure what the reason is?

If he had told me it was cuz of work-related stress, fearing the black bitch would jump out at us again, worrying about Mary or Mom getting ill, that’d be one thing. But no, it’s always my fault. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to sit back and just accept that. Well, I don’t. I accept his lack of interest, though. That I accept. Any normal, red-blooded man, or any normal, red-blooded human being, for that matter, would not simply sit back and take this platonic arrangement so damn well if they didn’t want it that way. I’d think there’d have to be a hint of unhappiness, some complaining.

Well, I’m not going away and I’m virtually positive I’ll never have a woman side dish cuz of the excuses and bogus dates they make, and of course, then the ones that do show up are hideously ugly.

I appreciate the fact that he’s cut way down on the snapping at me, now I just wish he’d level with me.

No booms today. Hopefully, they’ll remain few and far between and will never be like they were between January and March of 2000!

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2002 It is absolutely gorgeous out now. I can’t believe it’s cool and it’s only October 2nd! It doesn’t usually start cooling down till mid-October to early November. We really lucked out this year. Especially with a car that’s AC is broken. I can see how right Tom is when he says it’s chilly late at night. It’s getting down into the 50s. By 10 PM last night, we could shut the AC off for the night and it hasn’t been on yet today and I doubt it will be. We’ll save a lot of money this way. It was 77° inside the house when I got up at 10:00 and it’s cooler outside. I opened the windows and put the fans on and it’s cooled down a couple of degrees in here. The breeze is perfect, too. There’s not a sound and not a trace of horseshit in the air whatsoever. Today’s one of those days you wouldn’t know you were in a farming community.

Tom’s still not in yet. I know I’m blowing my chance to say no to Scot with the place wide open like this, but it’s a worthy sacrifice. You just don’t get too many chances to open your windows in Arizona. It’s usually too cold or too hot and in the city, it’s definitely too noisy. Sometimes it’s too smelly out here. I’ll probably keep things open till sundown unless it does get smelly or it rains. It’s pretty cloudy out there.

Now I have potentially bad news, and I said this would happen, too. I saw it. Well, the renters are gone. They may have been an eyesore and I didn’t like having to always see them hanging outside, but what if what we get next is worse? What if I have to hear and see them? What if they’re freeloaders? I still say it’s only a matter of time before we get some lazy-assed off-brands, sitting at home 24/7 on Section 8, hanging outside working on old junkers and blasting music while they’re at it.

Later…

Maybe not. I just looked out back and the white van’s there. But why aren’t they all hanging outside? It’s been good weather for that lately, but I haven’t seen them. And why is most of their shit gone?

Who knows for sure what’s going on yet? After all, they have their front light on all night.

I don’t miss seeing them as much. It gives me more of a feeling of isolation and privacy.

Later…

Still cloudy, breezy and beautiful out. Still have the windows open too, and the inside temp is holding steady at 75°. To think that we only had to wait till October 2nd to turn our AC off is like, wow, though we may have a couple of warm spells before it cools down for good. I’ll definitely have to close up the place come sundown.

If Scot doesn’t make it this week, I’ll begin to wonder if we just might beat that 16-week, 4-day record where he didn’t come between September 13th – January 7th, but I won’t quite hold my breath on that one just yet. We’re on week 8; only halfway there.

Finally heard from Mary. She sent a quick note asking me to scan the 5 pictures she sent, so I did. I sent them back since she didn’t tell me to hang onto them.

She asks that I keep sending her book drafts as I type them as they’re motivational to her. No prob. I’ll just stick to text.

She surprised me by asking about the dollmaking cuz she should’ve gotten the letter by now where I told her about skipping classes, getting a kiln (one of these years), and striking out on our own. Maybe she meant – had we gotten the kiln yet?

Tom’s getting me black ink tomorrow. None of my colors will print, even though I’m not on empty. The cartridges are just too damn old, but it’s cheaper just to refill my black cartridge than to go out and get all-new cartridges. He’s gonna grab me some white paper too, as I’m a little low on it.

Today he got fish supplies, but no algae-eater yet. They recommended we wait and let a little algae build up so the fish will have something to eat, which makes sense. Another thing he didn’t get was a cover with a light cuz they were a ridiculous $35. We can either make our own, get a cheaper one somewhere else, or do without. I can pour water in as it evaporates.

He got really cool neon-colored gravel that’s really pretty. He got two bags of hot pink, then a mixed bag with pink, green, yellow, orange and blue. No decorations yet, since I’m going to be picking them out myself, probably on Friday.

We got a temperature strip that sticks on the outside of the tank. It’s a digital one, too. Then, we got a really cool bubble bar that breathes little air bubbles into the tank to put oxygen into the water and a really cool waterfall filter. It pumps water up then it spills down over the top. It pours out, actually. It’s quite a soothing sound too, that’s soft enough so you can still hear the TV. Lastly, we got fish food.

It’ll be hard not sending Mary pictures of the whole setup once all the fish are living in it and Amelia if she could ever get here. I have a feeling that damn doll’s not going to be here by Friday.

Later…

It’s actually starting to get a bit chilly at the front of the house. Heard a few sonic booms, and was like, no! Please don’t tell me they’re going to start up with that shit.

I’ve opened the den’s shades halfway and taken the grille out of the skylight.

The white van left shortly after I noticed its arrival, then that lime green pickup was there for a while. I haven’t seen any people. I’m still not sure if they moved or if they’re temporarily staying elsewhere while they’re fixing something. There’s been a ladder leaning against the front, and the screen door’s been propped open.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 2002 It’s nice out but pretty windy. It hasn’t been this windy in a while. I don’t know if this wind is fronting a storm or not. Probably not at this time of year. It tends to be windier during the winter, then during the summer it usually only gets windy when a storm’s coming. This is the time of year when any day now, a storm will roll in during the daytime, instantly cooling things down till March or April.

Still nothing from Mary. I hope she’s okay, wherever she is.

Still no Amelia, either. Today starts the 7-10 business day deadline. I still think she should’ve been here last week. She’s only coming from San Diego.

I said I’d take till the end of the year to decide, so I will, but I’m leaning toward canceling getting the kiln and all that. Yes, I still want to make dolls, but if it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be, and I don’t want to get punished for trying to do it.

Later…

Oh, those fucking dogs! I noticed the cover was off the burn bin. When Tom went out, there was a ton of garbage in the wash to gather up. I was like, how the hell could even a huge dog move that thing?! There’s an umbrella stand on top of it that’s filled with water. Tom said the wind couldn’t move it, but an animal could if it was determined enough. He thinks it was a coyote cuz of the way remaining food was dragged into the wash and eaten there, whereas a dog wouldn’t do that.

As long as we’re unfenced I really want a gun! The only problem is that dogs and coyotes move too fast to be shot. These animals are like blacks and Mexies; they pick at you and pick at you, but there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!

For now, Tom’s not going to let any garbage sit out there.

I really worry about this getting overrun with minorities in a decade or so. They’re running us out as it is, and this means that this country’s going to get poorer and slower in the advancement of technology. They are the dumbest people in the world! Their sheer stupidity and laziness are going to put this country in shambles. And what do we do when they start being the ones to make all the laws?

[heyupyoursjr]

If you support dreamkeepers/vivid you're now supporting ai

If anyone here knows who dreamkeepers are, they now openly condone ai & have an "art" contest going on for it & want you to use an ai model that is used to create non-consensual porn models of existing people & they're also blocking people & hiding post that call them out, also for the traditional art contest that they're hosting alongside the ai one has the same prize as the ai "art" contest so they're literally comparing artist hard work to ai slop.

If you want to gauge their mindset, I sent them a message why I was leaving their Discord because of a moderator that openly allows, post & praises ai garbage(that's clearly scrapped from artists) just to get their rocks off & they're completely ok with it & their response was "I'm sorry you feel that way"

Another sad part is that we were following each other since the early days of Tumblr & it makes me sad seeing what they turned into, with the amount of people telling me why they left their community & the people they keep in their circles.

I sent them an email, all they did was skirt around all the unprofessional/petty behavior & they don't care if you use civitai that is used to create non-consensual porn models of existing people because they told me it has nothing to do with them.

They also informed me that they had an overwhelmingly positive response to the ai stuff & "people have been trying to drive readers away from their stories for years" kind of proves a point, literally turning into the big bad corporation that uses ai & doesn't care.

Seeing the amount of hate for this ai stuff on their Facebook post makes me wonder where the "overwhelmingly positive response" is & wondering why they told me their fans have an interest in it when they clearly don't.

Here's a few links about the ai that dreamkeeperscomic now condone & also want you to use for their contest. \/ \/ \/ https://apnews.com/article/generative-ai-illegal-images-child-abuse-3081a81fa79e2a39b67c11201cfd085f https://www.diyphotography.net/ai-generator-civitai-under-fire-for-creating-nsfw-images-of-children/ https://luddite.pro/civitai-facilitates-use-stolen-intellectual-property/

It really sucks when an artist you've looked up to for so long & even backed multiple indiegogo/kickstarters does stuff like this, I'm beyond disappointed in them & I'll be getting rid of all of the merch that I've gotten over the years.

I highly encourage everyone to second guess anything that has to do with dreamkeepers or vivid.

[innocenceless]

Life Story #002

You cross paths with people in strange ways.

A few years ago (2021?), after I had settled in to Sunali's house with the girls, PJ and I were still seeing each other in undefined ways. Backsliding, if you will. After things blew up in my face and crumbled around us in that god forsaken flooding one bedroom on that guys property, after I made a brave and hushed move for a happy life by emailing Jacqi about the open room, I broke up with PJ and moved out. I still find traces of that time here on Tumblr, saved in my computer drafts, in traces of sent emails and reddit threads--and it breaks my heart. We had a magical few months together in the early stages and I choose to hold fast onto those memories and not be too hard on either of us for how it turned out. Midnight kayak adventures, hiking up hills under the stars with mushroom mead, forging up rivers for miles to magical hot springs. So very special were those times.

After our relationship ended, we both sought out the comfort of our shared embrace and the familiarity of our friendship. Things were complicated and I would shamefully sneak him into my room at night and shuffle him out without telling my housemates. When I finally felt ready to date other people, I let him know. I held my ground with compassion as his heart shuddered through the aftermath of our relationship. I remember one particularly heartbreaking phone call with him crying and asking me why I didn't love him. I assured him that I did, that it wouldn't go away, but that we just weren't a match. I remained compassionate as the reality sunk in. I was proud of myself for not turning bitter or nasty, but empathizing and supporting.

Anyways, after that, I began swimming at the local pool and going to the ceramics studio and riding my bike all around town. Returning to the earth-body things that ground me, and making a routine as I usually do in unsteady plateau moments. I actually only went to the pool once. The funny thing is, I bought a 10 class punch card because you saved 5 bucks and I was sure I would at least go back that many times. The lifeguard was a blonde guy with dreads and an easy confidence who laughed at my bold purchase. I forget how or what happened but he got my number. I am not too keen on white guys with dreads but there was something fascinating there. (perhaps this is a clue in on most of my dating experiences)

We went to a Regional Park (oh now names are escaping me with age?!) in Sebastopol to go for a walk, and ended up sitting on a bench for hours as daylight dwindled and turned to night. Talking about nature experiences, human experiences, astrology and symbols, psychology, life. We had some shared pain and grief losing fathers. He was very focused and hermit-like. I seem to be drawn towards hermits. Those who retreat from popular culture and do their own thing without doubt or shame. I think I would like to be more like these people.

We went on one more walk, because I enjoyed his conversation and outlook, but it became clear he was looking for a serious partnership, and I was simply not. After PJ, I made a promise to myself that it's not worth it to get into a monogamous, committed relationship until I meet someone who really checks all the boxes. At least the important ones. I am done making large, serious compromises for someone. I want a relationship that's easeful.

Anyways, without much of a word and after some loose attempt to make plans again, I never saw this guy again. I can't even remember his name. But the feeling I had sitting on a bench with him during twilight is something that sticks with me. Another thing that stuck with me was his desire to live a life with integrity. That word cut through me straight to the bone. Integrity. Something I feel that I could use more of in my life. Something to steer me. That, and belief in something bigger. I have so often taken short cuts and felt no guilt because I don't think it's harming anyone. But this slow erosion of my own morals has left me feeling empty and unworthy.

[spaceboysbrainspace]

things happening in my life that don’t matter at all just keep entering my brain space:

-friend completely disappeared on me during one of the more intense periods of my life; didn’t have time to be that bothered bc of intense (or like was bothered but couldn’t process); finally talked to him this weekend abt how that was shitty and ofc immediately started wanting to get back into the practice of seeing him multiple times a week, except that I don’t want that even a little bit!!! Not at all!! Fuck that!!

-side note on that one of the things he said was ‘well bc everything was really intense for me too I gravitated towards only doing things that were fun and easy’ which like cool!! glad you didn’t interact w me bc it would have been too difficult and tiring bc of the shitty time I was having! thanks!

-am being a baby abt my other friend genuinely being too busy (but he at least tells me!!!!!)

-my new home is so pretty :)

-have an art I want to make but haven’t had time yet

things that matter medium that are happening in my life:

-my dog w separation anxiety is slowly slowly getting better about it and maybe someday soon I will be able to leave my property

-I’m extremely dependent on my friends to be able to leave my home rn bc of said dog and somehow… i have been able to do nearly everything i have needed to do and some bonus things too by which I mean my friends are incredible and amazing by which I mean having community care is… overwhelming and beautiful…

-the entire right side of my torso is in pain and has been for a week and the way it is in pain is that my nerves are Too Sensitive which means my Shirt Hurts and uh. I don’t. Like it. Wish it would stop. :)

-……need to send an email. a genuinely actually important email. In world context.

[anon-sect]

Tom saw an online lottery where the winner got to spend a day with the model Jordan Torres. All that was required that you were over the age of 21, with proof of age and submit your name. He thought that was simple enough. He had always admired the former rugby player turned model. The opportunity to spend a day with the hot celebrity would be a dream come true. The online lottery said that a name would be picked in ten days. As also required was a means of contact if your name is picked. He provided an email address.

Ten days were agonizing for Tom, wondering who they would pick. The lottery website said it would contact the winner in ten days. Every day, Tom checked, hoping to see a special email. On the tenth day, he was excited when he opened his email. He saw an email congratulating him on being selected as the winner. The email detail that they would fly him out to meet and spend a day with the model. It was sort of strange that they didn't include hotel coverage, but he figured that would be handled once he arrived.

Three days later, Tom arrived in New York. A limo was waiting for him at the airport to escort him to meet up with Jordan Torres. He asked about what hotel he would be staying at and about a return ticket back home. He was informed that he would be told that information when they got to the location. It didn't bother him too much since he was about to spend a day with one of his favorite celebrities.

They pull up to a studio building. Tom followed the guide that came to pick him up. They went to a strange room with a table and strange ray device looking down on it. He was about to ask what this had to do with meeting the model when three strong looking muscular jocks entered. All three were over six feet tall and athletically built. They grabbed him and placed him on the table. They strapped him down to restrain him.

"What is going on?" Tom asked, confused and scared. Now he see why the hotel and return ticket wasn't included. He didn't know if they were about to kill him. "Please don't kill me. I really don't want to die." He pleaded. The three jocks laughed at his plea as though they knew something he didn't know.

"Please don't yell for help or beg for your life." The guide spoke who looked like a nerd looking jock almost as tall as the other three guys. "We aren't going to kill you. In fact, we will make you indestructible and long-lasting. Which might be a blessing and a curse to you." He added.

"I thought I was here to spend a day with Jordan Torres. What's going on? Was all that a lie?" Tom asked, still scared, not knowing what the guy was going to do to him.

"It wasn't a complete lie. You will get to spend a day with the model. Actually, more than a day. You see, he requested a special pair of Puma underwear made of the most durable material." The guide paused. "We discovered that human beings transformed is the best material for what he requested. You were picked as the material used to make his special pair of underwear." He paused again to let Tom take in what is going to happen to him. "You will be Jordan Torres's new special pair of underwear. He will literally be your owner. I do have to tell you this process is permanent. There is no way to reverse it once complete. Also, your consent is not required for this process, as you can tell." The guide finished.

Tom absolutely admired Jordan Torres, but he wasn't interested in actually becoming the model's property. He did find Jordan Torres hot and attractive, but to literally be worn on his body was not the idea of spending the day with him. "Does he even know that you are forcing another person to literally become his underwear?" Tom paused with anger that he was being forced against his will. "You won't get away with forcing another human being a celebrity's property." Tom spoke, hoping his words would persuade them to let him go. But it only made all four of them laugh.

"First, to inform you, other celebrities have come to us for special clothing, so you see Mr. Torres isn't the first, nor will he be the last." The guide paused, smiling. "Secondly, he won't see the process, nor will he know that you are an unwillingly victim. He will be told that you wanted this and is happy to serve as his underwear for the rest of your life. I think it's time we begin the process. Mr. Torres will be here in thirty minutes to pick up his special pair of Puma underwear." The guide laughed as he and the other three walked out of the room.

"Please, don't do this to me! I don't want to be underwear! PLEASE!" Tom pleaded almost to the point of tears as he heard the machine start up above him. A ray of light flashed at him. He soon lost consciousness as he felt his body begin a change.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER.....

Tom finally awake, feeling his body, but couldn't move it. He found all of his senses were heightened. Still, the tortured part was that he couldn't move or speak. He was in a powerless situation, and it wasn't fun. His desire to hang out with Jordan Torres got him in a place he didn't want to be. The bad part also was that Mr. Torres would be lied to.

"Welcome, Mr. Torres. Your new property is ready. Made from indestructible material, it will last for ages. Not only that it will provide a level of comfort unmatched by any normal underwear." The guide spoke as he presented the underwear in the special looking box.

Jordan pick them up to examine them. The material felt good in his hands. He was curious what material they used to make them. It didn't feel like normal cotton. It felt warm as though it was giving off some small amount of heat on its own. "What did you use to make it?" He asked.

"Well, it's all human made. Human made meaning that it's a transformed human being who volunteered to become your personal underwear. He gave full consent to the whole process. He wants you to wear him. He really wants to be your property." The guide spoke with a straight face with no hint of a lie.

Jordan couldn't believe it. A guy would willingly do this. "Are you serious? A guy really gave consent for me to own and wear him, literally?" He asked, finding it hard to believe. What guy would sensibly and logically want this and actually be happy being his underwear.

"Yes, Mr. Torres. He adores you and wants you to wear him. He willingly gave up his humanity to serve as your underwear, honestly." The guide added. He was pleased to see Jordan Torres buying his total lie.

Tom was mentally screaming. 'He is lying! He forced me into this! I didn't want to be your underwear!' It really sucked that Jordan didn't hear his thoughts. Being in Jordan's hands was not fun. It was like being manhandled by the celebrity. It felt like he was living a nightmare. What should have been a dream come true was a living nightmare.

"Perhaps you want to try them on." The guide suggested. "You know, I think I will. This guy wanted to serve me so badly as to be my underwear, may as well give him the pleasure." Jordan spoke as he went to change out his underwear to try on his new special pair of Puma underwear.

Tom could only mentally weep as he saw Jordan slide him up towards his waist. Once secured around the model's waist, Jordan finishes dressing. Tom found himself trapped in darkness around his waist. He tried to squirm but still couldn't move at all. He then felt Jordan's member get hard.

Jordan felt the warmth of his new underwear. It felt strange feeling a human life trapped as underwear around his waist. At first, he felt sorry for the poor sap that gave up his humanity to live like this the rest of his life. But the more he wore him, feeling the body heat coming from his living underwear, the harder his member became. He was literally dominating another human around his waist who wanted this humiliation. He should not feel sorry for the poor guy. He was permanently underwear, may as well treat him as such. "I don't know why you wanted this so badly, dude. But this is your life from now on. I paid for you, and I own you. I don't feel bad about humiliating you on my body. I think I actually will enjoy it." He spoke to his underwear for the first and last time.

Tom only blamed himself as Jordan left the studio wearing him. He thought he would be having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the celebrity when he won the lottery. He didn't factor in that he would be his own property. He could smell every scent and musk of Jordan. There was no escape and no going back. He was underwear forever.

[writerwithbrainrot]

Prologue

Warnings: Mention of murders, stalking, Dismembering.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

The sounds of clicking of keys and phones ringing echoed across the room that many were in, all working on specific cases. These kinds of cases were not the ones that were actively displayed or talked about to the public, asmany of these events were too gruesome to even talk about to reporters. But it didn’t stop the investigators working at their desks, putting pieces of a screwed up puzzle together to try and get the answers they very much seeked for. But one man wasn’t at his desk, no, the empty desk with the name plate ‘Kyle McGravel’ on it was devoid of it’s occupant, was had opened the door to the large space he was familiar with and began to rush through it. The old, worn out, faded blue book in his hands had red stains on it held so tight in his hand you’d think it would tear apart at the seams, or at least fall apart as it looks at least ten years old, maybe a little younger. 

Kyle passed by a lady standing near her desk holding a coffee, nearly knocking into her, yet he didn’t care. His eyes were glued to the glass door of this room’s chief, the words ‘Gavin Buckler’ on the tinted glass of his higher up’s office door. He stopped, harshly knocked on the door and didn’t wait for an answer, opening the door and barging into the older man’s office. Buckler looked alarmed, head moving from the lit up screen of his computer and to Kyle. 

“Good Gracious, boy!” the old man exclaimed, his mustashe dishevled and grey hair all messed up from running his hand through it. “You shouldn’t just barge in here! I’m busy speaking to other department’s chiefs, trying to figure out this whole ‘Email’ business! You just about gave this old man a hear attack.” 

Mr. Buckler was around 70 years old, yet still as boysterous and up beat as someoe in their early thirties. When someone would ask how he was still so active, he would always just chuckle and say “My wife, bless her heart always makes the best Ziti, and I wont be leaving this earth for as long as she still makes it.” But you could tell the stress of the cases they were working on were wearing on the old man, as his sparkly blue eyes looked tired and his skinwas more pale than usual. 

Kyle sat down on a chair opposite of Mr. Buckler, his chesnut brown hair just as messy as the old man’s and his face already collecting wrinkles on his smooth skin. “I found sothing you’ll want to see.” He said in a rushed tone, holding out the book in his hands to Buckler, who took it in his hands and opened it, putting on his reading glasses and flipped the cover. “I was at a crime scene, at this home in the suburbs about a hour from the city. The wife was in hystarics and her husband had been slaughtered, head sliced off and he was bruised like someone was kicking him.”

“Boy, this is a diary.” Mr. Buckler said, showing Kyle the first page, with the stiff front page holding the words ‘Property of Loriana Therma’ that had been written in pencil at firstbut written over in pen. “This is the diary of a teenage girl.” 

Kyle paused “Yes, I know that, but flip to the first few pages and look at the dates. Let me finish.” Mr. Buckler did as told, putting his glasses back on and flipping a few pages. “The wife told me that her husband, the victim, was a collecter. He liked collecting old items from thrift shops and antique stores. I found this in the house and read through it a bit, and i got info from the wife that when he had purchased this book from an antique vender that they had started to get stalked. Now he is dead.” Kyle took a breath, and took a few seconds to let his throat relax before soeaking again. “I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then I remembered something. Most of the cases I have looked at, that some of my colleagues are looking at, all have one thing in common. That these victims came into possession of THIS notebook and either wrote something in it or read through it. I wasn’t sure of it at first but all the people who mentioned something about a diary or a journal all described the same thing.” 

Kyle pulled out a menilla folder from under his arm and flipped through it, catching Mr. Buckler’s full attention. “ ‘My friend started to act strange after she found a diary, and she wrote an entry or too in it before she became paranoid. It was blue and and looked old with weird stains on it. She lost it and wanted to look for it. That was the last I saw fo her alive.’ “ Kyle recounted, flipping through to another page. 

“ ‘ Kennedy wanted to practice removing and replacing the hard cover of books for a person project so we went to an old store to pick some up. We got about five, a funky red one, one that looked like a sea colored crayon covered in dust, an old blue one with weird stains on it, and two matching yellow ones. He started to change after that.’ “ 

Kyle read a few more before stopping and looking to see the old man’s face. “Almost all of these cases are connected by THIS book. And I recognize that name. Loriana Therma. My dad worked on a case in Ohio, and I heard him told mom about this teenage girl who ran off in fear and started a killing spree, and they couldn’t find her. Her name was Loriana. I was a younger boy but I think that this woman and the people she was once running from are here, killing off innocent people for no reason!” 

The two men looked down at the diary, now closed on the desk, suddenly looking more ominous than before. The silence between the men was suddenly deafening, before the old man slowly opened the book again. “If that is true, then maybe there can be answers in this book. Maybe it's my old mind finally catching up to me, however, I want to see if there is a reason for this madness. A reason for these murders if they are all tied together.” 

Kyle nodded, and, with a feeling of sudden danger in his stomach, started to read the first entry. . .

. . . . .

On a dark back road in the back of a stolen cat, a woman with messy brown hair asleep with her head on the shoulder of a man with a mask in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth opened her eyes. Her once chocolate brown eyes once full of hope were now dull and tired. Her Orange hooded team mate sat in the front, driving with the radio playing country music. And the boy twitching and ticking in the passenger seat trying to relax, yet he couldn't help but twitch and pop his muscles.

She made eye contact with the hooded man in the rear-view mirror, and said in a tired, soft voice "Someone has gotten their hands on the diary. . . "

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡