Monday, June 28, 2010

Late nights with Garden Shears

Who in their right mind would want to break into my apartment? It’s almost not a question but a statement. Within the last hour someone yanked on my storm door and tried to get it open. This is the third time this has happened in ten days. There’s nothing in here to steal. And as much as whoever this is terrorizing me doesn’t know that – it freaks me out to think maybe they aren’t looking to steal stuff but to hurt me. I live in a shit neighborhood. I’ve got to move.
I used to take drives at night. I’d drive with the windows down and let the wind blow through my hair. I’d breathe deeply and smell the night air. I’d smell honeysuckle and rain and near the lake, salt water. In the winter I’d ride with the window’s down and the heat on high blowing on my feet. Now I feel as though I am a prisoner in my own home. I can’t leave even to do late night laundry (and no I don’t mean that as a euphemism). I even will watch my watch when I’m out at night because I don’t want to come home too late.
I don’t sleep during the night. And I have garden shears in my bed with me. My cousin says I should get a gun. Thanks, 19 year old cousin. But I sleepwalk – I don’t think that’s safe. I mean, sleepwalking is more than walking while asleep. I’ve woken up fully dressed in a suit standing by the door waiting to go to work. I’ve woken myself up talking. I’ve taken baths. One night I took everything off of the walls and put it in neat little piles on the floor. Thank the good god, thank her I said, that I don’t sleep-eat! So…yeah, not a great idea to buy a gun. Dog’s out as an idea as well. I can’t afford to feed myself.
Well, off to not falling asleep. I think I’ll watch a Cary Grant movie cuddled up with my garden shears.

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