See, I have a bit of a problem. When most people are sleeping, I am usually getting a burst of energy. So, until it wears off (usually 2-4 hours) I have to find something for myself to do. This usually means I can get a ton of stuff done when I am not distracted by my B.lackberry or television and all, but it also means some nights I fall asleep just barely before the sun comes up. Michael calls me Lestat. We hate him.
This happened last night, around 10:30 or so. Out of nowhere I was just energized. So I decided that rather than trying to force myself to sleep, I would just go with it. I have a ton of shit to do before the girls get here for my birthday on Thursday so I figured it would just be best if I started knocking off some items from my to do list.
So I walked and fed the dog. I put 2 loads of laundry in the wash. And while those were washing, I ran to the grocery store.
As an aside, grocery shopping both late at night and at the end of the weekend is better than a negative pregnancy test. It is virtually deserted, and everything is being put out fresh to restock from the weekend. I was in and out in 20 minutes. Win!
When I finished up at the grocery store, I ran back home, threw the clothes in the dryer, and then headed right back out to Walmart where I finished up my shopping. On my way back to my apartment, I grabbed my laundry and finally found a parking spot relatively close my building.
At this time you should take note of a few things: it is almost 1am. I have a car full of groceries from two stores, two full loads of laundry, and nary a boyfriend or butchy girlfriend to wake up for help carrying this shit up three flights of stairs.
But you know, I am a strong, independent modern woman. I can carry this stuff upstairs. Sure it is 1am and I live near the woods and no one would find my body until spring. But WHATEVER. I am AWESOME and perfectly capable of CARRYING MY OWN SHIT.
On trip number three on my way back up the stairs with two arms full of groceries is when I was brutally “attacked”. And by “attacked” I OF COURSE mean “scared shitless”.
At first, I thought the shadow moving in front of me was Arch Nemesis Cat, who Honey has not yet quite figured out does not want to play with her and means her harm not play when she tries to claw at her pretty face. ANC likes to lurk around our stairs because the neighbors feed him. So his prescence here at all hours of the God given night made sense. Except I realized, ANC’s eyes don’t glow in the dark. I don’t know ANY manner of cat whose eyes glow in the dark.
BITCH THAT IS A MOTHERFUCKING POSSUM!!
Cue La looking like this:
Lawd. All my groceries. Both my shoes. My keys. Part of my soul. All strewn about the stairs and landing of my building.
And what did the punk ass possum do?
Moseyed on into the woods, as though it hadn’t just shaved 3.72 years off my life.
After standing at the top of the stairs for 10 minutes, screaming internally and panicking (“OMG CAN POSSUMS CLIMB STAIRS?!?!), when I was finally assured he had returned to his forest home to stay, I quietly gathered my lost things with the all the dignity one can muster after screaming like two deacons caught mid-foreplay in the pastor’s office. I am pretty sure there is still a can of green beans stuck under the stairs. But fuck it. I don’t even like green beans that much.
I hate living in the country.