2012: year of the stalker.

Remember when my neighbor got weird? Yeah.

He went out of town for a few days and I felt so free. I could actually walk through the hallways without worrying he was going to jump out of his door and spend two hours trying to convince me to cuddle.

And then, Thursday morning, I saw his car back in the parking garage. Ugh. What a downer. A true buzz kill.

Friday night, I tiptoed into my apartment and started getting ready for a party. I was in the bathroom curling my hair when I heard a knock at the door.

The Rapist.

I didn’t move.

Saturday night, I was taking a break from reading a black erotic novel to fold some laundry, when…knock, knock, knock.

The Rapist, again!

What the fuck?

I didn’t make any sudden moves, and eventually, he went away.

What I kept thinking about was him telling me, New Year’s Eve, that when he’s interested in a girl, he doesn’t put himself out there. Instead, he runs at the first sign of rejection.

Um, really? Cause homeboy has been sticking ’round longer than I’d hoped.

Previously in the week, I made a bet with a friend—would writer turned stalker guy send me a message on New Year’s? Of course! She said. So we made a bet. And I lost as he sent me a message on New Year’s Day saying, “U had a good new years?”

To which I didn’t respond.

And finally, yesterday I come into work and see an email from John. Yes, John. Crazy ass.

Since that whole weird I-didn’t-know-we-were-on-a-date thing happened last summer, he’s texted me a scary picture for Halloween, sent me a text saying it was his new number, sent me an email saying it was his new email…all of which went ignored.

And yesterday, he sent me an email saying he’s training for an ironman and blogging about it.

I’m beginning to think I am the crazy one here.


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