So we got snow here in PA

... and boy! It was a lot! You wouldn't believe how...

What? Story? What story? Oh, you mean the one I had started writing about last week or so about the scientists and the ear frequency thing. Well, why would you still be interested in that? I have a story waaaay  more entertaining.

Ahem! Anyway, I got home this morning and tried to fit my key in the door. Yeah, I'm still having problems-- like last year--- with that door whenever we have a big snowfall. Here's what it looked like from the last February.

Although there wasn't that much ice coming down onto the awning this year, I had problems with the doorknob lock. I almost broke the key trying to get it out! The knob was all cold and probably bits of ice stuck inside the keyhole...

Stop stomping your foot! Okay, I'll write another part to the other story. Hmm... where did I leave off at?
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Michelle Thompkins Diary
May 20, 2010

Bedroom... living room... bathroom... hallway...

No, I'm not vacuuming today. The apartment is tidy. I'm just walking around, occasionally hopping on the bed, skipping around through the one bedroom apartment, listening to the male voice name each room as if this is a game of red light/green light - but our version. He names the room I walk into and I occasionally step on the bed/sofa or up on the ring of the bar stool to break his concentration, waiting as children do for him to say something to give the signal to motor on my way closer to the goal.

What's the goal? I'm not sure. I had listened to the voices, the man and the woman, talk about me the one morning. They had made plans to bum-rush me when I came out the door. How did it go again?

Man's voice: "I'll be there at the car with the hood up, working on the engine. When she opens the door, I'll come at her."


Woman (slamming dresser drawers): "I don't want to be here when you do it."


It was sort of something like that. The threatening type of nonsense a person doesn't want to hear on the weekend when they are trying to sleep in. I had a part-time gig with the census department, but took the day off because of the rain. I got up early, dressed, and headed down to the coffee shop.

But that was a different day at a different time. I suppose it should have frightened me from the place. I suppose any normal person would have maybe moved when hearing their speech, so loud in the room, echoing around my head like amps hooked up to a bass guitar.

But no. I was fascinated by it. Or rather, at a later time it became fascinating in a clinical 'disturbed stalking people with self-esteem issues who blamed other people for their problems and suffered from obsessive control issues, but were too chicken to actually face their own problems or those people they falsely held accountable for concerning their problems" type of thing.'

Boy, that was a long sentence I just wrote. Sorry, diary. Like I said, on this day, we had a childlike-naming-learning experience that was more fascinating than scary as he guessed at which room I entered. Not that it was so hard to figure out...

Toilet flushes = bathroom.
Dresser closes = bedroom.
Water running when not in bathroom = kitchen/living room.
Place where I walk to get from room to room = hallway.

I've watched a lot of children during my life, from my teen years when I babysat the neighbors' kids. I was teaching someone the layout to my apartment.

But for what purpose? I suppose the alarm bells should be ringing in my head. I already mentioned that I knew  the person who possessed the eerie voice. I wasn't friends with him. In fact, if he tripped on his po' boy shoelaces in the middle of the street in front of a speeding, out-of-control bus, I'd root for the bus hijacker to press on the gas pedal a little more without rushing out to help the clumsy man.

That was my feelings for this man with the eerie voice in my head.

A man I knew was a criminal.

A man I knew had even broken into the local bar to steal stage equipment when the bar owner held live shows.

I was telling a man who I didn't like, a man who was a known criminal, the layout of my apartment. I was telling a man who had made threats about bum-rushing me when opening my apartment door how each room was set-up, where my furniture was, even the exact number of steps it would take to enter each room.

Could he be staking out the layout of my place? Could he be planning to break in and do something to me?

I sure hope so. I planned on killing him any chance I could get... this time...