Not much to log in. I'm still staying at the Three Judges, which I've accessorized by getting a microwave salvaged from one of the previous times I was here. The place is nice, run by a family from the far-flung Patel clan of innkeepers, no pool, no pets, the parking lot is not a playground (for children). The TV has cable, but not very many channels. You can cook in your room (some, but not all units have refrigerators) but not with a hot plate. Still, I manage to cook noodles in a tea kettle, and can keep things cool enough to eat lots of vegetable cuts with dip, fresh fruit, cheese and cold cuts. I've got food stamps, and a few bucks, but don't like take-out.

Looks like another week here if I don't get a phone call back. Only two usable leads in the last few days. My mom's feeling better; yesterday we went shopping, which ended up with me having a new set of sweats and a ball of twine, at least some of which is going in my Useful Kit. On my way back, I take some of the twine and start making string figures. "We spent..what, two dollars...just so you can make..." She laughs her pretty little laugh.

"No, it's going in my emergency kit, for my emergency twining needs."

"You can say that about just about anything."

Mom doesn't believe in the Useful Kit. After all, you can put everything in her car. Or she'll get it for me from home. (I can't go there. Her husband owns the house, and has had the cops come over and warn me for trespassing.) But, she forgets. Or she doesn't have it. Or...well, you can go without safety pins, or a few rubber bands, or Band-Aids, can't you? I mean, I see you almost every day...and anyhow, you carry so much stuff. "You could never back-pack. You carry your whole library with you, and your art studio, and I don't know what-all." and gives me another little chuckle... "You know I'm just kidding, you know I love you..."

But she forgets. And she complains when I have too much in the car. And, well, she can't keep track of what I have and what I haven't. And sometimes...

"Why is my wand in the bottom of the car? I told you not to touch it."

"It was too big for the box, it would break."

"How do you know it was too big for the box, when I told you not to open the box?"

"You didn't tell me to open the box, and I needed to put your other stuff away. I thought you said not to neaten up the box." (Neatening up, in her practise, though not her vocabulary, involves reading any papers she finds interesting, tossing out anything she considers old, broken or unnecessary, taking whatever she considers interesting or useful, and leaving me clueless as to what's inside.)

"I told you that box was private, and you shouldn't go through it."

"Well, what do you want me to do with all this stuff? Throw it away? I'll drop it out in this parking lot right now if you want. I'm paying enough for storage, my house is full...I never thought I'd be driving around with my car looking like it belonged to a gypsy. Now, let's talk about something else. What's your friend's zip code?"

I don't answer, then I say "My worker is going to be very disappointed in you."

"I don't give a rat's ass about her. She only hears half the story. If she heard how little you respect me...You don't even answer a simple question."

"How can I respect someone who doesn't keep their promises?"

"You don't respect mine."

"Listen, when is your time up here? I'll pick you up, we can have a good time." And she shorts me on house money, and drives off.

I spend the evening lying around and watching Bruce Perry get high on Going Tribal. He's kind of cute, when he's wasted. I eat a dinner of high-protein pasta, pesto, and meat saved from a rotisserie chicken I had on Sunday, and a few more vegetable snacks. Hoping to tell you good news tomorrow, signing off....