So, I'm sitting there, smoke rising in the still air, under the glare of the patio light. And I hear the Homicidal Palms move. I look that direction and wish really hard that I had the dog out with me. Then I hear a voice say, "Yeah, shit." More rustling of the palms. Then, "No, we're not going to be able to get through here." And I knew the voice. It was B. What was he doing here? What was he doing in my back yard? Who was he with? And WHAT WAS HE DOING IN MY BACK YARD WHILE HE KNEW I WAS HOME ALONE?
Doc wonders if I hallucinated it. I am quite sure that I did not. I know his voice, it is burned into my brain. Needless to say, I went out today and put the lock back on the gate and scolded Doc for leaving it off the other day. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?
J told Doc that B was not mad anymore. She dropped me from FB. I thought it was all over. I'm over it. What was he doing here? Nothing good.
Tonight, I believe I am going to paint on cam. The cam is set up. The painting stuff takes no time to set up. There is nothing good on TV until 10pm. that gives me a couple of clear hours after Doc leaves to get my art on. I'll be more enthused about it after I smoke. I haven't for a few hours, I'm not enthused about much right now.
Mostly I'm just glad I've re-secured the home front. And I now have one of my knives hidden, but within easy reach on the patio where I hang out. I need him to stop. Doc is getting a new mechanic. He's getting his scooters back, and getting a mechanic who will work with him, not against him. He decided that saving up to spend $300 on the scooter that needs a $25 part replaced, just because B wants to replace the engine is stupid, especially because we could get a washing machine for that.
B's general angst against Doc is mainly because Doc wouldn't let him set up a free lance shop in our garage. First, my studio is in the garage. Second, we cannot, under our lease, operate a business out of this house. Third, I do not want him around here all day. Fourth, Doc's stuff takes up the half of the garage that my studio doesn't take up. He's mad at me for having a studio out there. Like I am getting preferential treatment over him from my husband in the house that I pay half the rent on. Gee, I wonder why. Actually I'd like to know where B gets his sense of entitlement. People always assume that just because I am a throw-away-person to them, I must be to Doc, too. And they can't understand why he choses me over them.
People are so clueless.