August 6, 2013
Lying in bed, wee hours of
the morning, I realize I am alone. Haven’t honestly felt lonely since I have
been living here, since May 18th, in the duplex, with the giant dog
and youthful cat. Without clomping sounds descending from above, however, no
activity in the past few days, I absorb the sensation of feeling more succinctly
isolated and definitely solo. It has been since before I sold my house in Sacramento, California,
in the sleepy Country
Club Plaza
neighborhood, I discovered, I finally live by myself again. Hadn’t really
occurred to me that it had been so very long ago, yet it is twenty years.
Shocking.
Why do people really get
married. If they believe they are in love, infatuated, in lust, perhaps find it
too unnerving to be alone, desire children, need conflict to resolve. It is not
so bad living by myself, especially when I have the animals to talk to, can
visit with the neighbors or text, email or send telepathic messages to my
friends (since my old/new cell phone has decided to stop working.)
The neighbor woman had two
young punks brazenly enter her house this past Saturday, during the light of
day to steal her cash-laden purse, silent television, recently charged cell
phones and resalable laptop. She was upstairs droning-out to the tv, with her
ineffectual watchdog, naively assuming her valuables were safe. Evidently
another nearby family heard their doorbell ring and, upon answering it,
observed two youth running away from the house. We have a Neighborhood Watch
and yet, for some unknown reason, these two kids carted off quite a few items
from the first home, unseen. Now, when I leave the house, to hobble down the
street with the dog, twice a day, I lock all of the doors, shut the stuck windows,
fearful that my meager possessions could end up being sold out of the back of a
truck, in an alley somewhere.
People living alone are more
vulnerable to the robbers, so I aim to find a partner to protect and serve, at
all hours of the day and night.
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