A Comedic Tale of Woe, in Two Acts

A sure sign that I should get more sleep: I locked myself out of my house this evening. I made my dinner at 9:30, and it's been sitting uneaten in the microwave until now, at 11:30. Boy, is that soup dry now...

Act I

The whole sordid tale started an hour and a half before I got locked out. When I got home, I decided to do two things that I normally don't. 1) I rolled up both truck windows and locked it, and (important to the story only to show that I could otherwise have gotten into the truck to press the garage-door remote) and 2) I turned on the outside water, since our once-lush grass now has patches that resemble the Scarecrow's stuffing.

Awhile later, I turned off the drip hoses and turned on the front sprinkler. When I got back inside, I immediately locked the front door--something else I don't normally do. I normally forget and leave it unlocked until I finish watering or I'm about to go to bed, and then think what a stupid thing, to leave your door unlocked for hours. I was so proud of my self for remembering to lock it...sigh. Then, a few minutes later, I randomly found that ants were invading my house through the back door, as a result of the drip hose disturbing a mound particularly close to the door.

Full of righteous anti-ant fury, I grabbed my "Ant and Roach Killer" Raid and sprayed all the ants inside. Then I opened the door and stepped outside to spray the ones still outside, for good measure.

Now let me stress that earlier, when I turned on the drop hose in the back, I went out the back door, and unlocked it first. Apparently, I relocked it upon entering without even noticing, so I thought that the door was still unlocked. As I leaned down to spray the outside ants, I leaned slightly on the door handle that was in my hand, and this caused the door to close--and my brain to flash a message of, "Well, that was dumb--you don't have your keys. Good thing the door was already unlocked, or you'd be--" upon which thought I attempted to turn the handle and discovered that this was, in fact, the case.

Act II

At first, I couldn't believe it. The one night that Alex wasn't home--he was all the way across town watching a movie and hanging out with friends, while I was working on the laptop. And the one night that I had been working very well and steadily at my second job, the one that's been slipping into the background of "aack, I just can't because I don't have time to breathe." I thought, this is ridiculous. Why now? Why me?

The neighbors that I usually cry to for help in case of lock-out, stuck lawnmower, etc., were either away, asleep, or giggling quietly in the living room while whispering bets on how long I'd wait on their front porch. The other two close neighbors were both obviously long asleep--one family with young children and the others get up very early, so I was unwilling to bother them. The fourth house looked promising--and I hadn't cried to them for help or to borrow a rake in awhile, so it seemed like an opportune time. They kindly lent me their phone call Alex, but I knew he'd be awhile in coming.

I didn't want to sit around like an intrusive dunce all evening, so I came back to my house and thought, well, at least I can get the watering done for once this summer. I spent two hours sitting on the porch, praying, thinking, and dozing a little in between shifting the sprinkler. I had forgotten how relaxing both a country evening and a rhythmic sprinkler can be. In fact, I've forgotten a lot about relaxation lately. In the end, I came to a peace about it, instead of wasting two hours worrying how much work or school I could be getting done. I just lay down on the porch--surprisingly comfortable, for concrete--and listened.