No Homeless People Attacked Me Today, So I feel I am Making Progress.

I'm very excited to report I am no longer as neurotic as I used to be living alone. I still have a fear of ladders, yes, (who cares if you love on the 4th floor, LADDERS WERE INVENTED A LONG TIME AGO AND PEOPLE CAN USE THEM IN BROAD DAYLIGHT,) but I feel like I am growing up and moving on. Okay, maybe I still sleep with the bathroom light on, and the fan, and sometimes the T.V. (I am putting some guy from PG&E through night school,) but I panic less. Ish.

I don't really live alone. Let's face it. My in-laws live about 2 seconds down the road from me, and I eat food at their house almost every day. They are even watching my fish, Caper for me right now, and I tried getting him back when I came home from Pittsburgh. However, they have become not only super attached to me, but super attached to my koi. This is a real, live, conversation I had today with my mother-in-law:

M.I.L: "Hiii! I know you are in class, but I am going shopping for Caper, and I..."

Me: "Wait! Hi,...wait. Shopping? For Caper? The Fish?

M.I.L: "Yes, of course Caper the Fish! I was just running down to the shop to buy him new greenery. I don't think he likes the ones I bought last week, silly thing."

(At this point I was trotting down a side walk as a cracked out patron of the YMCA was yelling at me to 'rub his back.')

Me: "Mom, really, you do not have to buy him anything. I mean. He's a fish."

M.I.L: "Don't be ridiculous. I know what he likes. Would you like to come along? No, I'm sure you have work to do, and I know what he likes. No worries!"

How could I have any worries about a woman who "knows" what my fish likes? I jest, but I actually am so grateful to have family so nearby. Even though I refer to them as having "fish-grand-babies." Thing is, they like that.

Life has returned to normal. Like I said, I visit my in-laws almost daily, gobble up all of their cheese and talk their ear off, and come home and slowly make my way through my daily 9-movie-a-day-cat-lady-esque Blockbuster habit. The apartment was stale when I came "home", but I gave it a good cleaning before I realized the lingering smell was still, well, lingering, after hours on my hands and knees with a bottle of Ajax. THANK GOD I decided to cook tonight, (and this is a testament to how often I cook alone,) because when I opened up my cabinet door...a gel began to ooze out that I can only describe as smelling like a cross between dead feet from Harry Potter animals and crushed mice. I gagged. I freaked. I Ajaxed the hell out of that mess before I realized it was coming from a fermented, oozing, rotting bag of potatoes left un-eaten and un-loved. WHAT THE HELL POTATOES?! ARE YOU NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY AND RICH IN VITAMINS, NOT DISGUSTINGNESS!? Long story short:

I ate pizza tonight and took 2 showers.

So, the house is now clean, it smells like fake flowers and not rotting death, and I am beginning to feel like I have a handle on things now. I still need to make myself have a normal bedtime. I still need to stop crossing the street RIGHT IN FRONT of the ghetto YMCA, and I still need to eat more fruit than the odd banana and grape chewing gum here and there...but I am figuring it out.

I'll get there someday. Maybe not tomorrow, because I will be taking the BART again with my Mace in broad daylight. So, injury will occur. It might be me, it might be the strawberry-vodka gang, but at least I am prepared.

Half the battle, you know? Unless half the battle involves yourself...and the other half is...oh hell. Never mind.

Just wish me luck, happiness, and continued success in GROWN UP LIFE. God knows I need it.

Potatoes are bastards, man.