Pray for me. I have a stalker.

Pray for me. I have a stalker.


So you might be wondering if my blogs will just up and go away now that life is getting back to normal for me. Back into work mode. Able to look at my budget sheet without the tears of despair. Happily settled into a relationship. Normal. Just nothing to write about. You know?

Well. You must be new readers if you think that. I mean really. Normal would be…abnormal?

And I am maybe incoherent and such because of this latest fiasco of sorts. So if you have to read a sentence more than once for it to make sense just do so. I guarantee I had to look at each sentence more than that while typing. It’s the result of being a sleep deprived woman. Sleep deprivation has groggified my poor brain to a place where it will say all kinds of things that just do not make sense.

So you might be wondering what is causing said sleep deprivation. Children? Nope. My “baby” is 19 and off being all adultish and such. Work related stress? Nope. I love my job! Bad dreams? Nope. I rarely even remember them and of course you get a blog out of it when I do. HWSNBN? Nope. When I spend the night at his place I sleep wonderfully.

Tis none of those things. It is ever so much worse than that. People… I am a stalked woman. I kid you not. This individual is out to terrorize me with constant harassment and late night badgering. I really do not know how much more I can take. I have been driven to the very brink of utter exhaustion.

By an owl.

Oh it all started off innocently enough. But I misunderstood his intentions when he first made his presence known. In fact I was rather hospitable if you must know. It all started back in March.  I mean I suppose you had to be there to understand…

It was a dark and stormy night (and probably snowy and such. Minnesota dontcha know). Our heroine (umm. That’s me, k?) was winding down after a long and difficult day of navigating corporate America (it wasn’t all that hard yet back then) by sipping on a delicate glass of wine (diet coke) and pouring over the glorious words of Keats (ok, it was Cosmo.) Suddenly she is torn away from the surprising plot twist (buttons on spring shoes? Really?) by a disturbance out behind the plantation (backyard of my rambler). She rises gracefully from the chaise lounge (tripped over both cats while getting up from the hideous floral hand me down couch) and dashes out to the sweeping veranda (crumbling cement step).

Owl: Who! Who who who who?

Me: Hey Kali (dog)! Klepto (cat)! Remy (cat)! Look! We have an owl! How cool is that? In our very own yard! Oh wow!

Owl: Who? Whoooooo who?

Me: Hiya owl! Hello! Oooooo cool glowing eyes! Hey do that Exorcist thing with your head!

Let’s jump ahead, shall we?

Week 2

Owl: Who hoot? Who who who who hoot who?

Me: Shouldn’t you be hibernating or heading south or something?

Week 4


Me: I don’t know who! But it wasn’t me! For the love of GOD would you shake a tail feather already?!?

Oh dear and gentle readers! What on earth am I to do?  Months of “whoing” and I apparently have not given him the answer he wants!  I need sleep! I long for graceful slumber! But the harassment just continues and I can not take much more.

And then last night he brought a friend. *whimper*

2:00 am

Owl: WHO! Who hoot who hoot who hoot!

Evil scheming conniving friend: BRAWP! Gurgle gurgle gurgle BRAWP!

I lay in bed listening to the owl and the frog battle it out. Oh they had so much to discuss. And I hate them. HATE. Of the deep and unforgivable sort. The type of hate that leads a woman to stomp out to the back steps at god-forsaken-early O’clock to shout “SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! Go away! Oh my GOD just GO!”

And for a moment there was silence. Glorious silence. And then the doorbell rang and the dude across the street (in a superman bathrobe… I mean really) asked if everything was ok. I explained my stalker situation and he had the very nerve to simply stare at me, shake his head and walk back across the street. How’s that for chivalry?!?

So if you happen to see a crazy woman in the city today muttering and cackling to herself with the occasional “Brawp! Who! Brawp!” thrown in for effect please be kind. She really needs sleep.


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