I have trouble sleeping. I'm told it's my age, but like to believe it's something else. I used to sleep like a rock as a teenager. I could sleep on a hard floor--and that's no lie. But now, every couple of hours I tend to gain consciousness even if only momentarily.
I have prescription sleep pills that work great, but I hesitate to use them. If I take one and am undisturbed, it's a beautiful thing. But, if someone wakes me--or calls me in the case of a couple of days ago--I will do incredible things and can't remember most of it. I had a 30 minute conversation with a friend. I can barely remember what was said, but apparently I was going to cash a $30 check and drive to St. George. I also woke up and found three different text conversations going around the exact same time the night before. My thumbs must have been flying. They were actually highly intelligent and well-written. I have to say some of my ideas were brilliant. I just can't remember texting. But that's a whole other post.
Back to me and my sleep problem. I went to bed last night and refused to take a pill. I didn't want a repeat of the night before, and as I always try to do I convince myself that I'm not in need of medication. Of course, I went to sleep around 7:30--a friend called. Shortly after that--another friend called. Finally, at 10 pm I drifted off to sleep. (I get up at 4:00 a.m. lest you think I am an old lady.)
Around 1:53 a.m. I heard a loud, crying, whining, heavy breathing sound from outside. I thought who the "h" is outside right now and what are they doing. I groaned and rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Not much later, I heard a POUNDING on my door. I jumped up and peeked out the window. I could see someone there, but wasn't sure who it was. I don't know what I was really thinking other than, that if someone knocks on your door you answer it.
This woman is standing at the door tweaking out bad. Fumbling through her purse looking for a paper. She asks me where Topeka is. At this point, I had three voices talking in my head. My first was my dad who always reached out to help a stranger no matter what. I felt a sliver of compassion momentarily. The second was my co-workers who are black, familiar with the area, and city savvy. They've told me I live in prostitute, drug-ridden neighborhood. I really thought everyone around here was just friendly and they were neighborhood street greeters. You know, like at Walmart. Those people just stand in the same place and say hi to everyone that walks by and they're not drug dealers or prostitutes. Hmmm...or, are they?
Anyway, my last voice was my own. It was saying--actually screaming, "You stupid lady! Don't you know I can't sleep and you just woke me up!" I didn't say that out loud. I informed her there was no Topeka here and I didn't know who Topeka was. She said, "I've got her name. I've got it right here." She was still rifling through her purse. I said, "It doesn't matter if you have her name on a piece of paper or not, I still don't know who she is!" I was starting to get irritated. "Well, can you help me find her?" Okay, I couldn't take it anymore. I said sternly, "Look lady! It's 2 o'clock in the morning and I'm in my underwear. I'm not going out to help you find somebody named Topeka. I don't know her. In fact, I don't know anyone who lives here. I couldn't even identify my neighbors by face."
Exasperation. But knew my sternness would impress upon her the need to go away. I really wasn't without compassion, it just seemed clear that she was being affected by some sort of chemical. And sadly, nowadays strangers can prove to be very dangerous. Plus, she woke me up. Shen the begged to come in and take a shower. Then, I thought things were weird and knew I was not letting her in my house. For all I know she had a knife in her purse--and I wanted my last two hours of sleep. I don't remember what I said before I slammed the door. I stomped back to bed and hoped for more sleep.
And then....the wailing and whining started again. I heard her scream, "Please God! I can't do this anymore. Won't someone help me. I can't take it anymore." Geez, I thought she's probably in bad shape--and really high. Because I'm not co-dependent anymore I didn't want to go and save her, so I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow. But not before I heard a loud knocking and banging--on my neighbors door.
P.S. My street smart friends at work who are black--all three of them--told me never to answer my door at 2 o'clock in the morning ever again. Understood boys. Eventually when I get as streetwise as they are they might stop calling me, "Utah."
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