Have you ever noticed that when you are depressed, the world seems so sickeningly happy? It's the same kind of torture as when you diet, the world will turn up the heat on fast food joints. Anyhow, here I lay in bed, alone and naked. Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Riviera Paradise," is on endless repeat on the CD player. I'm mistress of my own pity party. Tonight, I'm the queen of Bitchdom.
However, I do take some happiness in knowing that I chose not to partake in the family torture holiday booz-a-rama. I glance at the clock, by now, there will be at least two fist fights, mom will be crying, grandpa is sleeping, and my lesbian sister will be entering with her gang of butch girls.
I thought my new choice would be better. However, I'm realizing that sometimes-alone can really be alone. Earlier, I had fixed my self a nice dinner, lit candles, had nice music, watched some movies, and soaked in a long hot bath. Now I'm pathetically lying in my bed.
I take a deep breath, relax a little more, and close my eyes. Logically, I know that by taking matters in my own hands, my life will be better. I wished silently that next year would be better, much, much better. At last, I can feel the waves of sleep claiming my body.
Suddenly, I hear noises. I know that someone is in my apartment. I can hear footsteps. I realize that my cordless phone is under the couch cushions to silence the family phone calls. My cell phone is in my purse. I can hear it being dumped out on the floor in the hallway. The voice of the stranger sounds large and mean. I finally remember that my old cop boyfriend bought me a .22 pistol just for moments like this. I fumble for the drawer of the nightstand. In the process, I knock over my nightlight and it crashes to the floor. The footsteps stopped and walk towards my door. Still fumbling with the contents of the drawer, I finally find it and aim it at the door. I'm ready to blow away anyone that dares to fuck with me.
The doors bursts open and the light is flipped on. My eyes are trying to adjust.
"Who the fuck are you?" the voice asks.
I'm confused, why is the stranger asking me that. I should be asking that. MY eyes slowly adjust. I can't believe it, it's a man in a Santa suit.
"Is that thing loaded," he asks, then he laughs.
I look at my shaking hands. I'm not holding the pistol. I'm aiming my vibrator at this guy.
Logic finally returns to me, "Wait a minute, who are you? Why are you robbing me?"
"Robbing you? I'm not robbing you! You're in my apartment?" he said indignantly.
This has gone nuts. "This is my place!" I plead, "What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?"
He slowly looks around. "Fuck, I can't believe it. I'm in the wrong fuckin' apartment!"
