So yeah. Reality. The reality is that I'm not nearly as bothered by getting older as I am by the latest crime by the Waldo rapist. When I saw the crime tape and the detectives in a nearby front yard last Monday, I felt like I was going to throw up. Strange how tragedy becomes more real when it strikes closer to where you live.
I can't stop thinking about that poor woman. Or the one before her. Or the one before her.
Or the two before her.
My friend Suzanne and I were talking about how we wake up in the middle of a nightmare where we hear his footsteps, open our eyes, and he's right there. Even when I wake up knowing I'm OK, I wonder where he is and worry for other women. Everyone is constantly on edge, some to the point irrational fear. He has created a reign of terror.
And I feel for the African-American guy I read about in the paper yesterday who lives on the same block as one of the victims. Though he's nowhere close to fitting the composite sketch--he's been questioned twice. That sickens me too. The lingering looks and unfair judgments innocent men are getting. All because of one man.
So yeah. I'm turning 50. But it's really no big deal. Being afraid to go home, jumping at every car door slam, worrying about your sister, your friends, all the women who live near you? That's a big deal.
Be safe, Everyone. I'm sorry this post isn't funny. Maybe next time.