Saturday, June 9, 2007

Voiceless pharyngeal fricative

Last night at bar-closing thirty o'clock, I woke up thinking my house was being broken in to. There were voices outside and someone was pounding on my door. Strangely, my first reaction was "Oh, that's not about me," and so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Within a few moments, though, the incessant pounding woke me up again. I had a delayed "Holy FUCK!" moment, exacerbated by my having cruised the state's sex offender registry website that evening, just before going to bed*.

I went into stealth mode. I slid out of bed without turning the light on. I peeked through the blinds in my bedroom, and was NOT very thrilled to see a couple of someones apparently trying to break in next door.

While I scrambled for clothes (it's HOT!) and wondered whether to call 911, I suddenly understood what was going on. My neighbor, bless his heart, had probably locked himself out AGAIN. Sure enough, when I turned my bedroom light on, the pounding began again in earnest. I flipped on the back porch light and there he was: sheepish, extremely apologetic, and deserving an ass kicking.

He now has my phone number, and I no longer have his keys.

It's a damn good thing the dog is cute.

*I was trying to find crime stats by neighborhood, while researching where I could afford to buy a house. The sex-offender website was the closest thing I could readily find. If you can extrapolate general safety based on those results, I am somewhat less safe here than in my old town, but considerably safer than I'd be anywhere I can afford to buy.


p.s. I'm not doing very well this weekend. I am overwhelmingly anxious. NOT scared, which is what I was last night. Anxious. On edge. It's affecting my ability to do things.