Monday

Well, it's over between me and the lady. The one who got me onto this stupid thing to begin with, the whole reason I have to pay some half-wit to type this up for me. She was off with her mother for a week, and then she comes back talking to me about how she doesn't want to be involved with the police. She said that the police had contacted her (she was too naive to understand that in the Police State, they know everything), and she didn't want to be involved with it anymore.

With just a little surveillance (I worked in Defense for twenty five years), I was able to find that she was with another guy. I followed her around town, and she went into this red brick row house on [redacted] street, and comes out with some guy, and they get on a scooter and drive off. A greasy looking European (possibly Arab, he looked dark) who rides around town on a little motor scooter is better for her than an American patriot. But if that's what she wants, that's what she gets. I could see it was going south anyway. I simply could not provide the shock value she needed in the war against her mother. So she went and started seeing a terrorist (allegedly).

I'm still going to continue the blog. Even though my hand hurts from all this writing (three vicodin -- THREE --and a handful of aspirin this morning and I'm still aching), I feel that what I have to say is too important to let a little breakup ruin it. It's not like I've not been divorced twice. I have. And good riddance.