Sweater Thief and Bloody Projectiles

*makes a face*  I don’t like it when people touch my stuff.  I don’t like it when they touch my stuff in front of me, let alone when I’m not around and someone touched my office stuff while I was at home last night.  I think you know about my really, really, really heightened sense of smell (I think it comes from the PTSD others think it’s differently related) and I can smell people and get a good idea of where they have been in a room (or larger space) and the timeline surrounding their movement.  An old boss of mine had a very specific body smell … it wasn’t a bad one, particularly, and certainly not B.O., but I could smell the guy every time he came into my office building (his office was at another campus).  I could walk into the lobby in the morning and, because it wasn’t a very busy place, I’d be able to catch his scent all the way up the stairs to our floor and down the hall to my office where he would drop stuff off and sometimes work at night.  I could smell his breath on the receiver of my phone and the smell his hand left on the handset for the entire day after he was in.  Heh.  It’s tough to sneak up on me, in short.  Anyway….I get overwhelmed by smells in this department because there are several outpatient clinics that go on around me and it results in too many people to pick out individuals (kind of a human soup, of sorts.  Oh god that makes me gag…)  That said, I can clearly smell someone has been recently inside my office.  Cleaners, you say?  Yes, likely, however, I have two sweaters I wear at work and just leave here rather than drag them back and forth…cardigan type things….long ones that go with lots of different tops…lacy and pretty in black and burgundy.  Both of these live on a coat hook behind my door.  This morning, one of them is folded all nicely on the chair next to my door and the other is folded into a square and hung over the coat hanger like a towel.  I picked up the folded one, thinking maybe it had fallen on the floor and the cleaners just picked it up for me to be nice, and was hit by a whoof of smells-like-a-human-I-don’t-know.  That only happens when someone wears a piece of clothing…the entire thing smelling like them.  My not-so-lightning-quick-mind at 745 am slowly registered that it means that someone was wearing my sweater.  Now, I know this doesn’t seem like the greatest of offenses … maybe it was cold down here last night while they were cleaning up … maybe a coworker was desperate for a sweater and had security let them into my office so they could borrow it … I’m not entirely opposed to loaning someone an item of clothing, heck, I shop at thrift stores for fun~ I just wash everything….twice….before it touches my body.  I just really don’t like the smell of other people coming from the clothing I am currently wearing.  What if I had just worn a tank top to work this morning and needed to wear that sweater?  I probably would have worn my winter coat all day rather than the smelly sweater that someone wore and then folded and left on my chair.  You know…they barely even clean my office! My floor is done once every three months and I dust everything on my own.  I also rescue wipe my phone and computer down after I’ve been away for a few days, empty my own confidential shredding and keep my own desk clean.  It’s only the garbage they remove for me, and don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for that, but I don’t understand why they’d need to borrow a sweater to do so.  Plus, once you close the doors down here and the out patients stop coming through it turns into an oven.  It’s humid and hot when I get here in the morning….certainly not sweater temperature.  Then again, one of my colleagues keeps a heater on her feet all the time and she’s just in the other office beside me….maybe it’s just me.

Well now.  That was quite a rant about nothing.

I have been having distressing dreams of late…no surprise there but these ones are sticking with me for days.

One particularly clear dream that is still lurking in the corners of my mind is one where I moved into a new place.  It was in a city I had lived in before, years ago but a part of town I wasn’t familiar with.  I tend to go from place to place in my dreams, often mapping out the distance between them and once I have traveled within one dream to another location I’ve dreamed of in the past I tend to remember it.  Like real life, really; going to a part of town you’ve never been to and then knowing how to get there the next time you think of it.  My dream map just has a lot more blank spots than most real ones.  Anyway…moved into a row house in a very congested area where the houses were tall and slender; crunched up against each other in a staggered, too-tall and looming way.  The neighbours were curious to meet us but I am the type that doesn’t really like sharing my entire life with people just because we happen to live next door to each other so I didn’t want to go outside much.  There were windows on the sides of the houses, which was odd considering the buildings were all bricked together, and they looked into each other’s houses.  In my kitchen there was a window looking into my neighbours kitchens…..layouts identical.  I took the stairs to the second of three floors and found that the windows running up the staircase looked into the neighbours staircase beside me and the pattern continued on through nearly every room in the house…even the bathrooms and bedrooms.

“Dayne, I don’t think I like this place…”  I said to him over the phone.

“Just give it a chance Grainne.  Maybe it will grow on you.”  he suggested.

I hung up the phone and went back to the main floor to finish exploring the new house, hoping to find something I liked about it to make up for the lack of privacy in all those neighbourly windows.  I noticed a sliding glass door to a back yard and smiled hopefully, thinking this might be the saving grace…a backyard.  I went to look outside and was disappointed the moment I pulled back the curtain.  The “yard” was a 4×4 box of dead grass that was entirely surrounded in metal chain link fencing.  There were four walls and a roof of fence making the yard look like a large breed dog crate.  I went into the tiny space and noticed there was a dangerous looking cross-bow lying on the dead grass.  I picked it up and aimed into the maze of my neighbours dog-cage back yards and fired, surprised by the kick it gave me and suddenly very sorry I had done something so stupid.  I watched the projectile flying through the holes in the fencing, somehow speeding up as it went along, eventually flying so fast it began to generate a glowing red and white heat that started to melt the fences it passed through.  There was a fishing line attached to the end of the projectile and I grabbed it, hoping to make it stop before it passed through a neighbour, not just a fence, and the line nearly cut right through my fingers…but it stopped.  I started to reel the string and projectile back in, increasingly surprised at how much had been deployed, and when I had a pile of finishing line that had reached my waist, filling the tiny space around me, I finally saw the actual projectile dragging and bumping along backwards through it’s original path as I pulled gently on the line.  As it got closer to my cage I noticed it was leaving a trail of something dark behind it and it seemed a different colour than it had been when I had sent it out.  I held my breath and refused to look at it for the last twenty yards or so, praying it was just a trick of the light, and when I heard it slither through the last hole, the one it made in my fence as it left the cross bow on its path of destruction, I exhaled and looked down.  It was just as I had feared….it was covered in blood.  I had hit someone with my careless shot and now there was a trail of blood and molten metal fencing leading right from them directly to me in my little back yard cage.  There wasn’t any way to hide it or cover my tracks…I had made a terrible mess and I didn’t even have a reason for having done it.

Great huh?  When there’s not enough guilt in my world my brain starts to manufacture it for me.  I keep getting struck by pangs of guilt and fear through my work day….when I stop to look at it rather than ignore it I realize it is all over a dream.  A dream!  *sigh*  Exactly what I don’t need.

Sleep study is in one month.  Countdown is on.

 

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About Grainne

My name is Grainne. This blog has been with me for years now and has served as a journal, a confessional, an outlet and a place for me to create and express my love of life. Thank you for stopping by and for becoming a part of this life long journey of mine. I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to do so. :)

2 responses to “Sweater Thief and Bloody Projectiles”

  1. Birdie says :

    I left a comment but WordPress ate it.
    It is weird about your sweater. If someone wore it why didn’t they just put it back where they found it?
    I am looking forward to your sleep study and the results. xo

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