2003-07-26 @ 3:07 p.m.
|Paranoia, a Free and Easy Hobby You Can Do at Home!
I recently came home to the hellhole I call my apartment and walked through my kitchen on the way to the sink to wash my hands. I had my sandals on. Washed my hands. Walked back through towards the living room. Slip. I didnít fall, but I looked down and there was a large yellow circle of pee in the exact center of my floor. Hmmm. I took my shoes off and got some paper towels and cleaned it up. I have a cat. Iíve had her 4 years and she has never so much as squirted over the edge of her cat box. Not once. I live alone. I donít have the anatomical structure to pee in the middle of a room, except if perhaps I squatted. I donít remember squatting. Even though I take mind-erasing medication for my bipolar condition I think Iíd remember squatting. How did that get there? And then the paranoia machinery started revving up.
The guy who used to live here and still lives in the complex, has a key, and thought it would be fun to freak me out. The landlord doesnít like me and knows that after my toilets overflowed three times the first week I lived here, I have issues about liquids on the floor. Its not pee, but a subterranean duck toxin that is seeping up through my floor, and Iím going to be poisoned by its mere presence and start growing hair out of my fingernails. See how this works? It provides hours and hours of fun. And its totally free.
Iíve had some other oddball things happen in this apartment. A box in my closet had its lid mysteriously knocked off. A missing keyring. The back entrance to my apartment is filled with spiders. And I am an arachnophobe. Everyday these little monsters spin webs strong enough to hold J Loís ass jiggle-free. I think its a conspiracy. They know I hate them. They know I take a stick everyday and knock down their little spider condos, but everyday theyíre back stronger and more terrifying than ever. Iím almost tempted to go out the front door and wade through the sea of bratty kids and jump over their bikes. But at least spiders I can control.
My last apartment was a paranoidís worst nightmare. One day I went into my bathroom, which was an inside room with no windows. But the sun was shining in there. How? Through the electrical switchplate halfway up the wall in direct line with the toilet. Bands of sunlight were pouring in around the edges of it. I freaked. I ran and got a screwdriver and took the plate off and squinted in around the edges. I could see into the apartment next door. Holy shit. A paranoidís wet dream. A Norman Bateís hard-on. The apartment next door was empty and unfinished, but had a row of windows across it and my neighbor had access to it. He stored stuff there. I had heard rustling in there before.
Do digital cameras make noise when they snap pictures?
I immediately went to the local Home Depot and happened upon three male workers shooting the breeze. I told them what I had discovered and that I was looking for something to cover it up. One said, ďOh, that sounds coolĒ and they all nodded knowingly. Stupid Fuckheads. So one guy finally showed me to some larger lightplates and I bought a roll of electrical tape and when I went home I taped the hell out of the edges and screwed on a larger lightplate.
But that wasnít actually the worst of my apartmentís problems. I had a closet, which abutted my neighbors, and then a smaller closet off that where my water heater was. I had some stuff stored in there. One day just as I was going in there, just before I turned the light on, the whole room lit up. I was like what the hell. My neighbor was just walking out of his back door. Come to find out, the only thing dividing my apartment and his was a pegboard with like 20,000 holes in it where you could insert brackets to hang tools on. You could read the fucking phone book through it. This was like less than 3 feet from my bed, where I talked on the phone, made love noises, and talked about how stupid my neighbor was. And he had access to all this information through a Swiss cheese wall and I didnít even know it.
And being the good paranoid I am, I started imagining, that he had been listening in on a regular basis. I had been going through a heavy masturbation rotation cycle that summer, oooh, ahhhh, yeeeeeesss! And he would frequently leave his apartment and walk right by my bedroom window right in the midst of my love-making aíla me. I mean I had the shades closed and curtains drawn. Iím not a perve. Coincidence? I think not.
So I immediately started building a wall. I put heavy cardboard up against the practically-not-there wall, jammed boxes all the way to the ceiling and hoped that the show was over. But I couldnít get over the feeling that there were Masturbation Cams hooked up somewhere in my bedroom. It was a very old building. Walls were wavy with gaps and holes. I could just see Steven Spielperve sitting in front of a bank of TV monitors next door.
ďswitch to camera one. zoom in. good. I want it tight on her ass. good. camera two. get ready for an overhead shot. I want the whole bed. Yeah the messy sheets look great. Iím glad we went in when she wasnít home.Ē
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty