Thieves

I’m back! I have to return to the blog world because the 140 word limit on Twitter is cramping my style. Really. It is such a nosey community anyway (er, love you Twitter), and I don’t even know if anyone will ever read this here, so in a way, that is liberating. But of course I must document the incessant drama that seems to creep into every damn day of my life. From every unexpected place in every seemingly peaceful moment drama inevitably is waiting for me.  Yesterday, for instance, I woke up at 4am. I had been battling a cold and chest congestion for two weeks. Granted that sucked, but little did I know I would lie in bed another hour sleepless, and then begin a day of vomiting that would result in me walking slowly, with red dehydrated eyes to the nearest ER, five blocks away, in blinding heat as if in a desert….the yellow bile vomiting had left me weak and chilled. I ended up with two IVs and perscriptions for vicodine and some bronchial antibiotics…

Today I tried to block out the world in order to calm my nerves and boost my immune system…and hopefully clear the red from my eyes (still working on it). I watched episode after episode of How I Met Your Mother, cursed Barney Stinson, cried a little, laughed, and at one point caked henna in my hair to turn my hair a little redder and shinier, and then I heard a bunch of chatter in the hallway and at the same time checked an email from the neighbor…

“Hello all,
It’s 9:50pm.  I just saw the young boy the resident of apt. D and his parents, saying he has been rubbed on gun point.  He said, when he got home he saw three teenager (one black, one mix and one white boy) were in his place taking his laptop, and other valuable /electronic stuff, while thretened to shoot him.  I asked the parent to call the police.  I hope they do.
Please keep the front door locked all the time.  This is the first time ever, this happens in this building.
Mokhtar,
Apt. B”

I have to tell you this is the same boy who I hear in the neighboring bathroom coughing up his lungs not from bronchitis but from being the biggest stoner ever, and sounding like the oldest, sickest 19 year old in the history of loser stoner jr college kids. I don’t know him, and i’m being harsh. But now the peace of my house appears to be threatened.  At first I was worried it might be connected to the still unknown guys who stole my purse of my shoulder one night two months ago only a block form my house (also would have been a blog worthy story, where have I been??) but then talking to the older gay painter neighbor guy from the email I realized aha it is probably this boy Matteo’s friends, or rather drug buddies, who are pissed for some reason.

And this would not surprise me because I have been suspicious of him and his conncetions for awhile and here a re a few key things I have seen to make me feel this way:

1. a gun in his room when it was open a crack

2. a sketchy guy outside our house a couple months ago, trying to get in

3. gay painter’s boyfriend saw a handful of sketchy dudes being rude and hanging outside our pad just a few days ago

4. all the coughing, (really annoying)

And so I eavesdropped on Matteo’s conversation with the cops (it was like CSI in the hallway):

“would you say mixed or light black?” “what about the 3rd guy?” “he was just white…odd shaped nose” “short hair? bald?…what was he wearing from head to toe?” “when the guy pointed the gun at your head what did he say?” “don’t say anything, shut the fuck up…” “but i didn’t do anything, i wasn’t trying to be a hero…” “he said stay on the ground stay on the ground better not call the fucking cops”

Must lock doors at all times. Definitely need to watch my back at all times.  Maybe should move.

Maybe I’m just paranoid.

Every new day brings surprises, but I react less. Am I getting old? I’m 28 and sometimes I feel old. My friend said she read an article that are brains stop developing when we’re 28. I think maybe it’s earlier than that for a lot of people.

Old college friends are getting married. I’m back in school and studying art. People think this is selfish. And the biological clock is ticking, at least by society’s standards. I could be fat and stupid, but if I had a child or the prospects of one in the near future, my mom would get off my back, or rather, stop complaining to the family. Actually, I don’t think she’s talking about me at all. It’s my pride that makes me imagine otherwise. I think rather that she has forgotten me. And that for many- old college friends getting married, mom, etc.- I am fully alive as the memory of what I used to be in their eyes.

This world speeds by, it’s true, but it is so very long.

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