Won’t You Be My Neighbor

Every once in a while you have a blue day. You didn’t get enough sleep the night before, it’s Thursday (not Friday), you haven’t been communicating well with your spouse lately, it all adds to the hue of your blue. The more life tosses at you, the darker the sapphire gem of a day becomes. Then there is the evening commute home, which compounds the feelings and anxiety. Especially when you have to use the antilock brake system to avoid a traffic accident on the way home, not once, or twice, but three times! It is only a 20 minute journey home. Yet after all that, I get within 30 yards of my parking spot to find a “neighbor” stopped in the middle (not on the left or the right), but the middle of my path home. She was stopped to chat with another “neighbor.” Blocking me and another vehicle from entering our circle to go home. Assessing the situation, I see there is just enough space between the “illegally parked” car and the garbage dumpster, I can squeeze by these inconsiderate neighbors and get home. So I whipped around the first car, then squeaked past the dumpster into my parking space. I was finally home, time to crawl into bed and cry my blues away.

No, the neighbor has other ideas, she has pulled her car behind mine and parked illegally again. She wanted to address my “reckless driving.” You should never corner an introvert when he is having an Indigo Day. Not only did I unleash my frustrations about my day on her, I added in all the anger stored inside me since April. My rage needed a vessel and she was it. I screamed countless obscenities about her parked in the middle of the road as I backed down the sidewalk toward my front door. I needed inside, I needed to calm the Hulk down. Ezra witnessed this from his studio window above. I stormed in and slammed the door in my neighbor’s face (she was still in her car). What was I thinking? I immediately began planning my apology. Next time I saw her out in the community I would explain to her that she was a victim of “wrong place, wrong time” luck, that mom had recently passed, the my day was bad and the drive home was worse and finding a car blocking my only way . . .  ta dum, ta dum (that’s what mom always said instead of etcetera).

Two Xanax later, there was a knock at the front door. I peered out the window to see a police vehicle parked outside. There was another knock, this time a bit more forceful. Ezra went down stairs to answer (I was still not ready to address anyone in public). I heard the door open and some words exchanged. A moment later the front door shuts and Ezra is jogging upstairs to tell me that, “the owner of that bue Malibu out there needs to slow down, he was driving too fast according to the neighbors.” My neighbor called the police, for what? No laws were broken, only my pride. I’m sure her feelings were hurt, but again no crime for that either. Yet she had to call the police and most likely 911 (you know the “life and death” emergency line). I’ll apologize, eventually. But we may need a police presence since I’m such a menace.