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I'm taking a kind-of-almost-permenant hiatus from live journal. I'll still be around but I won't really be active (not that I am anyway). I just don't have time.

I read all your journals and I am genuinly interested in everyone on my list. Yees, EVERYONE, even the ones I've never commented on. I read all my friends everyday but I honestly don't have the time to post everyday or comment everyday. I get about 1/2 an hour everyday to be online and that time is used to read journals and to communicate with my daughter. When I have the time to be online longer that's when I comment and post.

I feel kind of bad because I worry that you guys think I just don't care or aren't interested but that's not true.

So, I'm just trying to say that if you're not getting what you need from me then I will understand if you want to remove me.

I'll be here, reading and ocasionally posting and commenting. Just like always.

And to the friend that is having some serious problems that I haven't commented on yet, I read and I care and I'm sorry for what you're going through.

Soory, I know I haven't posted or commented but I've been looking for work. This is really fucked up...

I had an interview Monday for a job making $9.50/hour but I wasn't to sure I'd get it because I'm so small. You have to spend the whole day lifting 40lb battery trays and then stand the completed unit up wich weighs about 700 lbs (don't ask how a person is supposed to do that). Well, the supervisor looked at my little 4'10" 100lb self and actually said he wasn't sure if I could do it, so I kept looking. I applied everywhere.

Yesterday "The Maids" called me back and had me come in for an interview and I started the job today. I start out at $7.00/hour and may work 15-40 hours a week. I get home and guess who wants me to come and work for them? The battery tray place with a garaunteed 40 hours a week. I can't stand it.

I don't know what to do. On one hand cleaning peoples houses is gravy work, no drug test, and it might be kind of nice to get home early some days, but the pay sucks.

If I quit "The Maids" and the other job proves to be to difficult then I'm fucked and I'm pretty sure this other place drug tests wich means having to find someone with clean piss. I don't really know very many people with clean piss...

What to do, what to do...?

I guess I need to go roll the fattest joint I've ever seen and think about this some more.

When I was in jail for 7 months my ward was across the hall from one of the mens wards. People that knew anyone in that ward at one time or another knew that it was where they sent stalkers, child molesters, wife beaters, etc... anyone who would get the shit beat out of them by other inmates in any other ward.

Well, the girls found a way to pass notes to them. They'd write a note and roll it up dagonally to make a tight, skinny, long tube. Then they would connect all the letters together in one super long tube, stick it through a little crack under the door, slide it across the hallway and into the crack of the mens ward door.

After a minute I got bored enough to join them in this silly, childish behavior because like they all told me, what could possibly happen? They were locked up. We were locked up. They couldn't get to us and it helped to kill many long nights.

The man I was writing to was a stalker and wife beater. The men would send us hot chocolate and coffee in the tubes just because talking to women made them feel like men again.

It was all in good fun until the guy started writing things about me being to independent and he would have to fix that as soon as we got out. He wrote something about tying me to a bed in a secluded mountain cabin until I got over my independence. Scary stuff!!!!

Well, I stopped writing to him but he kept sending all these letters saying he was so sorry and he was playing with me and blah blah blah. After awhile boredom kicked in once more so I started writing to him again. His letters became softer and he seemed quite intelligent so when he asked that the next time I was in the hallway going for a visit or church or counseling that I have a friend give a special knock on the wall I figured what the hell.

Well, he got his look at me. He sent a letter, the first letter sent that night, saying that he though from my letters I would be a chubby, ate up, prostitute looking bitch but was shocked to see that I actually looked like an innocent child. He went on and on about my "child-like" angelic beauty. I started to feel invaded and dirty. I started to wonder if he was a child molester.

Next thing I know I'm getting letters from the other guys saying that this dude was dangerous and he was saying really crazy and scary shit about me. Talking about keeping me to himself and no one else would have me.

Later after I had gotten out a friend sent me a letter from prison with a letter from the guy attached. He had found her and said when she got out he was coming to see her and they'd put their heads together and see if she couldn't come up with an idea of where he might find me now that he was out.

Well, my friend is out now, but the guy never found her because she was out almost immediately smoking crack. I don't even know where she is anymore.

Just goes to show, if it seems like a stupid idea, it is!!!!!

When he finally wound down and lost a little energy I reminded him of all the accomplishments that I've made and how I often talk about the fact that him and I are one of a kind and most people with addiction problems don't come out of it like we did, succesfully. I pointed out times, places and conversations where I spoke of how proud I was of myself. The one thing that may take me almost a lifetime to forgive myself of is the kids though and he had to just fucking give that to me or leave.

Then he realized he was wrong. it wasn't at all like he accused me of. I don't sit around and talk about what a horrible, nasty person I am all the time. I work hard for my achievments and I acknowledge them often. I may be terrified to try things I don't feel I'm capable of but that doesn't mean I won't try.

The whole thing started over Lowes. He said I should apply. I told him I was scared I would fuck up because I don't know anything about paint, home remodeling, etc... He got so mad over that, screaming at me that me being so down on myself and refusing to try anything for fear of failure was affecting him in a seriously negative way. We fought all night and all day the next day.

Back to him calming down though, when he finally did I informed him how I had gone to put my application in at Lowes and I had intended to all along. Just because I was scared didn't mean I wasn't going to give it a shot. He looked dumbfounded and said if I'd just told him that at the start we wouldn't have even fought. Oh, well, maybe if I'd been able to get a word in edgewise. maybe if I'd been heard over all the screaming. Maybe if he'd just stop thinking about his own fucking problems constantly and just open his fucking ears and LISTEN to me and hear me. I honestly don't know why I bother talking to him because he doesn't listen and it really hurts. How do you talk to someone who who isn't listening enough to even know when they've been asked a question?

We watched Prozac Nation. It scared me how much she reminded me of myself because I saw just how unstable I really am. on the other hand it kind of showed Mark how hard it is to fight that bitter demon. I've been on Prozac. I've been on Remeron, Paxil, Wellbuterin and about 3 more I can't remember the names of. Some helped, some didn't, but they all made me into a zombie. Now I'm on weed and it seems to suit me just fine.

Mark gets angry at me easily sometimes. He goes into a dry drunk and takes it out on me. I don't dare say a word though because it only makes it worse. Never accuse a recovering alcoholic of being in a dry drunk.

I think he hid the knives. I haven't slashed myself in two years but there are no knives to be found. Does he really think I'd go back to that way? I have to wear long sleeves in 90 degree weather just to hide the scars from my daughter because I see her eyes get teary and she gets quiet everytime they are exposed. She's afraid I'll try again. I'd rather she forget the scars are there. I will never do anything that will risk the only child of mine that I am able to see. I will never leave her. Not by car, train, boat, plane, foot, or death. My life is about her and making sure I am 100% stable and succesful when the others are old enough to come find me, or me find them. This is now what my life is about and if Mark doesn't see that then maybe Mark should be paying a little more attention to his wife.

I think I'll go waste a few cops and ballas.

According to my husband I shouldn't be sad that my kids were taken away and I couldn't get them back. According to him I should forgive myself and stop hating myself for it. I should get their perfect, beautiful faces out of my mind and not think about the fact they think I abandoned them or didn't want them and how badly they were hurt by this. Guess I should have no regrets. That would make me a unicorn then, wouldn't it.

Apparently I need to talk to someone about all my past mistakes and failures and being sexually molested, my stepfather putting a pillow over my face to kill me, drug addiction, being a prostitute, being a thief, being abused and pimped by my ex, etc... to feel better (but not to him he says) because me being sad is making him miserable. Hmmmmm, anyone want to talk about all of my "issues" so that my husband can feel better?

I'm sorry I haven't been posting much or commenting and stuff. I've been busy looking for a job. The hours I'm insisting on and/or my felony is really holding me down. I thought I had a job at IHOP. The manager was acting really interested and said he'd give me a call yesterday but he never did. Even one of the waitressess said he'd probably hire me. Oh well. Probably a good thing because he seemed very flirtacious. That's the last thing I need. I really don't want to deal with that kind of shit.

When I'm not out looking for a job I'm murdering ballas and stealing guns. San Andreas is very addictive. For being a really non-violent person I sure am getting a kick out of shooting cops in the face.

my Ozzy kitty has been more affectionate than usual lately and my willow-is-a-pretty-girl has seemed really sad. I think she may be needing a little more attention and is still a little bent over Shadow being here for 3 weeks.

The new job sucks!!! I quit!!!!!

There were only about 4 people on the floor. That tells me
A:They use temps up and then get rid of them
B:It's a really sucky job
C:They don't get much business so there's no room for growth and A (see above)
D:All of the above

Not only were there only about 4 people but they were all women and all white. What the fuck??????????? AND they were telling racist jokes wich I was forced to listen to because there were so few people that I couldn't help but hear.

The bitches made me feel really unwelcome. I kept hearing "psssst, temp this and bzzz bzzz temp that" They actually made me cry. One of the wires in the air dryer I was assembling came out of the crimping (no fault of mine, it was the crimpers fault) and the supervisor came over and said "Oh no". Made it look like I did something wrong and one of the fat bitches came running over just to see the new temp fuck up. I wanted to cut her!!!!

Fuck them fat cunts. They can lick my vulva.

So now here I go, beatin the pavement looking for another job. Sure wish I had a car. I was gonna get one if that job had worked out.

I feel really weird today. I woke up looking and feeling strung out. Now I'm a bit tired but yet I feel like COME ON COME ON COME ON LET'S GO LET'S GO LET'S GO. I don't have any idea what that's all about.

This dude comes over last night and we all blazed up. Well, dudes sitting there tokin' away and asks if Ozzy is a stoner kitty. We tell him that if Ozzy wants to get high, he knows how to get high. Never in a million years would I blow smoke in any animals face. So, this dipshit fuckhead says his cat loves to get high and whenever motherfucker blazes up his kitty jumps in a box with a lid (wait, how does he get in there if there's a lid on it???) and buttfuckhead blows smoke at kitty in the box and covers the lid. Man, I don't want to have to go to prison for murdering that asslick moron.

We're gonna sell the bike. Yep, no more motorcyle escapades. I'm kinda glad. I won't really miss it.

I wish I was a cat!!!

Oh, and Mark wants my unpregnany undone in a couple of years.