Sooo. Last weekend we bought a loaf of bread. Since we mostly only use bread for Keslyn’s lunch, a loaf of bread will generally last us quite awhile. Today, when I got out the bread for her lunch, I noticed it had gone moldy and stale already! Grr. Now, keep in mind, this bread has been sealed up, away from extreme hot and cold temperatures. Not getting squished and poked but other hard objects. It should have been in perfect condition. It should have been the Buddha of all breads. Not moldy.

Hrmpf. Yanno? Just hrmpf.

(Yes, my stale bread really is the most interesting thing I have to post about.)

Its just been a crappy day. Just not good, and personal, and I don’t want to blog in detail, but if you know any corny jokes that you could put in the comments section, I’d be glad of a giggle.

And I made these two dolls:

Doll on the Hill Factory

Black Cat

They’re (going to be if I ever hear back from the people in charge) entries for the Miss Doll International 2006 contest. Its been so long since I’ve dolled anything. I’ve made pixels, mostly small ones for my own use at Bibliophile… But I’m pretty happy with the way these two turned out. The larger one gave me such a headache - or rather, PaintShop Pro gave me such a headache while I was working on her. And I think I need to edit the hair on the first one a bit - as it sits, it looks very much like a couple of dolls at the DotH site - I think I spent too much time browsing there, and they crept into my brain. Heh. I need to add a wrap & shoes to the middle of that one, too, so we’ll just call it a work in progress.

A Letter

Dearest Inconsistency,

How have you been? Its been such a short time that we’ve been apart. It is my fondest hope that your existence has been as true to you as you are to me. Here, as always, life goes on - ups and downs are registered and replaced and, unlike my checkbook, always seem to balance.

I’d like to offer you a commendation. You are a consistent, often disappointingly so, visitor. When I feel comfortable that life will plod onward in the usual way, you come to turn it on to a new path. Things being as they are, I can’t say that I’m grateful. But I can’t say I’m surprised, either. The trouble, you see, lies in the fact that I continue to hope. I hope that each time you visit, it will be the last; that I can set my course, right my wrongs, and go on my way. That I can be consistent. Understandably, you cannot allow this - your very nature and name forbid it, and I understand.

So know that I hold no grudge for the pain you’ve caused; I vow no retribution because I know you simply do what is in your nature to do. The fault, the hope, the delusion lies in me and I must say that I’m glad. If my recurring and unflagging hope nets only your company - I will not curse it or you. To be hopeful, to have hope… These things can lighten even the heaviest burdens, and shine brightly in the darkest hours. If the price I pay for lighter burdens and brighter light is the consistent inconsistency, I don’t regret it.

Of course I grumble and bemoan the injustice of it all, but do you blame me? Or do you know about me what I know about you: It is my nature to grumble and to bemoan. In knowing you, and knowing you so intimately, I can forgive and even celebrate aspects of your nature - I’ve come to expect you, you see. You are a part of my life, and certain aspects would not be the same… Would not be at all without you. If the best that some people have to offer is another visit with you, Dearest Inconsistency, then I invite you in. We’ll put up our feet, have a cup of cocoa, and discuss old times. Because we’re friends, you and I, and we have much in common lately.

I send this out with the hope that you’re doing well; Inconsistency, I hope you are very well indeed, and that next time we meet, it may be under less unpleasant circumstances.

Awaiting Your Reply,
Kathleen

In Other Words
Put up with me, readers, I was feeling a little old-time-prosey this evening. All’s well… Just inconsistent.

So, quick-like:

It was the neighbor.

He was naked.

He has been evicted.

And apparently, I’m not the only gal in the building he’s been peeping at. You’d think the building managers would have alerted people that that sort of thing was a hobby of his.

So, this evening (11:15-ish pm) I’m sitting at my computer, playing The Sims. All of a sudden, I looked over at the door (my computer happens to be directly in line with it) and I see a strange man peeking his head in.

Now, we have a sutdio, let me explain, so everything and everyone is in one room, John’s & my bed and Keslyn’s bed are not in view of the door (or viewable at all from the door). So, its a fair assumption to say that this strange person poking his head into our place may think that I’m in here alone.

Now, since we are in a building that is supposedly locked down (only residents have keys to get in), I figure that maybe this person was just wandering around and accidentally opened the wrong door. So, I said “Hello?” thinking that perhaps its our next door neighbor. No answer, just this head and bare chest peeking in through about a 6-inch opening.

Me: “Hello?”

Him: “…”

Me: “Hello?”

Him: “…”

Me: “Hello?”

Him: “…”

At this point, I’m obviously getting a little freaked out, and my voice has been getting steadily louder. The person at the door starts to close the door - or at least, I assume he’sclosing it. But it pops back open, to that same 6 inches.

Me: “Hello? Can I help you?”

Him: “…”

Me: “Do you need something?”

Him: “…”

Me: “Hello? Do you need help?”

Him: “…”

And starts to shut the door again.

Or so I thought. Yes, that’s right - for the third time, the door swings open about 6 inches. Now, you may be wondering: why on Earth didn’t I just get up, slam the door, and throw the bolt? Two reasons. 1. I’m basically a good and trusting person, and I thought perhaps this was a drunk or sick or whatever person that legitimately needed help. 2. I’m basically a scared and suspicious person who had no idea if the strange person peeking into my room was going to reach in and grab me, or stab me or whatever strange peeking people do. Plus I kinda thought he might be nude (couldn’t get a good view, thank God), and I didn’t want to get that close.

So, back to the open door.

Me: “Hello? You can close the door now.”

Him: “…”

Me: “Close the door. Now.”

Him: “…”

Me: “Close the door, NOW!”

Him: “…”

But this time, he mostly closes the door, and his shadow moves far enough away that the hall light is once again coming in - so I get up, shut the door, and throw the bolt.

Then I wake John. That’s right. He slept through the whole thing. I woke him up and said: “John, I think a naked black man just opened our door. And poked his head in. Alot. I think he was naked. Some black man. I don’t know who. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, at least.”

As you can see, I really wanted to stress the possibility of his being naked.

Actually, to be really honest, I was largely freaked out. I mean, its not every day that strange men open my door, for one. But if my door gets opened, there usually follows an embarassed “Ohmygod, I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. I thought it was my room. I’m sorry! Sorry.” and then the door shuts immediately. Not really a big deal. Especially since that’s only happened once. But this person… It wasn’t an accident, and it had the feeling of play, in a sick sense. Like he opened the door, and was absolutely silent… And then kept swinging it shut and open and shut and open… Just staring at me with wide eyes…

It was freaky. John couldn’t find anyone in the halls, or the building manager. So. The door is bolted, John has gone back to sleep… And I’m still freaked out. Its not so bad right now, because John is here, but he’s going to work tomorrow, and I’ll be home alone with Keslyn all day long.

It worries me, and I know I’m justified in worrying… I’d feel much better if the issue were resolved tonight. I guess I could call the cops. Its technically high enough on the freak-out scale that a police report would be justified, and they would take care of it tonight… I don’t know why I don’t call the cops. I guess I just don’t feel justified. I don’t know that I could pick this guy out again if I saw him, and that really does scare me - he may be a resident in the building, or he may be someone’s guest, or he may be just some random person who followed a resident in. I have no idea. There are cameras in the hall, so tomorrow people will review the tapes and figure out exactly what happened…

I don’t know why I don’t call the cops. It doesn’t seem like a big enough deal, to me, to be making such a fuss. I mean, nothing really happened, and it could have just been an accident.

Didn’t feel like it, though. Still doesn’t. And really - how much has to happen before it justifies a call to the police? Am I really one of those people who waits (or would wait) til it was 5 minutes too late to try and protect myself?

John suggested, laughinly, that I keep the hammer (an actual hammer, not slang for some other kind of weapon) next to me at all times, because it would really freak someone out if they opened the door and I charged at them swinging a hammer.

And it would.

But what if it didn’t? Or they had something that freaked me out more than my hammer freaked them…? Just what if?