If it weren’t for Misha, my dog, and my assortment of cats, I don’t think I’d get out of bed most days. Today I sorta didn’t. Oh, I fed my pets, but then I climbed right back into bed and read a novel—that was about six hours ago. I finished the book, The Lake by Richard Laymon. His stories are filled with irony, and you’re never sure who the bad guys are. I think he may be my new favorite author, though his novels are filled with violence involving weird sex. I know I’ll grow weary of reading such material, like I grew weary of Anita Blake and her assorted non-human lovers—well they had some human in them—just mostly beasts—yet I may come back to them one day.

I’ve been feeling restless. I want a total change. Go where no one knows me. Start over with a whole new life, personality, look—the works. If I were rich, I’d disappear right now—just for a while. I feel trapped where I am. I’m growing desperate for a change. I NEED a change. But I’m stuck because of circumstances—the luck of the draw. Life dealt me a really snotty hand. *sigh* Guess I shouldn’t complain. I could have no life at all. Sometimes I wonder….
 

I have these gigantic fire ants crawling around in my house, and I can’t seem to get rid of them. Sometimes they crawl up on my toes and sting the piss outta me. I HATE that! The little suckers always leave a bubble blister that itches like hell. If I could afford ant spray, I’d obliterate those little demons, spraying them while shrieking like a mad woman, my face twisted in evil delight as they killed over—such dark thoughts on a lovely day.
 

Been hotter than a wood-burning stove today. Guess it’s cooler outside. My tin can of a house holds heat like a baker’s oven. I’ll probably sit outside later in the cool of the evening. I hope the blasted gnats and mosquitoes will leave me alone. 

I keep thinking about this house out on highway 74—a big, rambling gray thing sitting just off the four-lane on a slight hill. I guess you could say I’m sort of obsessed with it. I explored it once way back when I was still married. My then husband was not amused with my adventurous nature. However, I did not break into the place. I merely went in through an unlocked back door. The house was vacant at the time, and I explored to my heart’s content—or at least as much as I could with my husband trying to drag me back outside. I remember the wide, cherry staircase, and the fireplace in every room. Such a cool house, and I felt as if I belonged there. It still calls to me, but as poor as I am now, there’s no chance in crazy land that I’ll be able to buy it, even if it was available for sale.
 

I wish I wasn’t so poor.

People tell you that money doesn’t make you happy. You know what I think? I think that’s got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Whoever originally said that must not have ever had to live on peanut butter for an entire month. Trust me, the only happy thing that came out of that was the thirty pounds I dropped.
 

I think I’m losing my mind…