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My day started off badly this morning and didn’t get any better as it progressed. I knew when I got out of bed I hadn’t had enough sleep. My best snooze time, at night, is nine hours. Anything less and I find it hard to get out of low gear.
If I do cut the time short, I find myself making up for it by falling asleep frequently during the day. This I will do almost any place, any time. The only thing that will keep me awake is conversation with another live, in the same room, human being. Since this is a rare, sometime thing, I find it difficult to avoid dropping off frequently.
While I often indulge in give and take with a TV being, usually in a confrontational mode, I’m afraid even that is not stimuli enough. Even a diatribe against someone on the tube really annoying me, can’t provide enough adrenalin.
It’s a miracle I haven’t fallen off my scooter, or slipped off a chair while dozing; or worse, fallen into a plate full of food. The saving grace is the fact that my sleep, unless flat in a bed, is usually, at most, only half an hour long.
The longest I ever sleep in a bed, whether night or day, is four hours. Sometimes, during the night, I will have trouble going back to sleep and I get up and read, do crossword puzzles, or watch a really old movie on TV. Usually, if this happens at 4AM, I just stay up and have breakfast at 6 or 7.
Of course, if I start my day at 4AM, I’m not in the best shape when the newspaper delivery boy, (bless his heart), leaves my paper, in a plastic bag, hanging on my front door knob. This was true this morning.
I’m very careful to unlock my door before opening it to retrieve the paper. Yesterday, however, I just wasn’t functioning too well. I had already poured my tea into my cup of orange juice, dropped my toast, buttered side down on the floor, and lost my hard boiled egg down the garbage disposal in the sink. Not a good beginning.
After breakfast, as is my want, I put the paper in the hallway near the front outside door, so my neighbor can get it. When I turned around and tried to get back into my apartment, the door was securely locked. For the first time, I hadn’t unlocked it from the inside before I went out.
Now, if this happens, one can ask a neighbor to ring the complex manager who will open the door. This is easy enough, if it’s between the hours of nine and five, if it’s a weekday, and if the fellow happens to be around, which he very often is not, and wasn’t.
Never having my cordless phone with me, which I know I should, I had to ring my upstairs neighbor’s doorbell. She is also handicapped, but was the only person home and I knew she had company. She, and her visitor, were only too glad to help. This involved making some phone calls.
The first call, to the main office of the buildings, was fruitless. An irate sounding man informed me that he couldn’t come for at least three hours. Here I was, stranded in the small hall, unable to get upstairs to my neighbor’s apartment, sitting on a small chair she had sent down to me, and it was getting hotter by the minute.
The neighbor’s in-laws had shown up and they were wonderful. They tried everything to see if they could help. They tried everyone’s keys, in the off chance one would work. They even tried using credit cards to see if they could pop the lock. I’d seen this on TV but never knew how it worked. It didn’t this time, but I learned why not. A piece of plastic is put over the lock on the door, which prevents the card from slipping in and pushing on the lock mechanism. It’s an anti-burglary device for which I would be grateful once I was back inside my house.
In the meantime, I had called the town office to see if they could locate the fire chief, who carries keys to every place in town. He’s a wonderfully helpful man but couldn’t be located at the moment. In a few minutes after the call, a pickup truck pulled up and two gentlemen got out. They asked if I had left a window open. There was one window I had opened right after getting up. Thank goodness for doing one thing right, and thank goodness for living on the first floor.
I still don’t know who the men were, or how they learned of my plight, but I’m sending flowers to them and the town office. I’m also sending a bouquet to my neighbor, her family, and friends. I’m also going to leave a spare key with the neighbor.
I’m sending some lollipops to Tiffany, age 5, an upstairs visitor, who sat on the stairs and talked to me through my whole escapade.
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