Divisions and Precisions

Just Because You're Paranoid...

My wrists hurt like crazy today. Of course, spending a huge amount of time on the computer yesterday probably didn't help. (Gee, Lisa, do you think?) In fact, yesterday only my left wrist hurt, today it's both of them.

Translation: this might be brief.

Aside from damaging myself on the computer yesterday, I really didn't do much this weekend. I read. I read a lot. Friday night I went to Barnes and Nobles (more on that in a bit), so Saturday I read Danse Macabre by Stephen King, an excellent, excellent non-fiction look at movies and books and shows that have scared us, and why. (I can't help but wonder what he made of The Blair Witch Project...) Then on Sunday I read Telling Lies for Fun and Profit by Lawrence Block. Subtitled: A Manual for Fiction Writers. I'm not sure yet exactly how much I got out of that one, but it was entertaining at least, and gave me some things to think about. More importantly, it made me realize how many things I'm doing right in my writing, and that's never a bad thing. The final thing I bought was a copy of the 1999 Writer's Market. This may have been the most practical purchase yet. I have several ideas of places to send my stories to now... just a question of picking which one to start with next.

Barnes and Noble Friday night served to point out to me the benefits of living with someone, and reminded me of the perils of wandering through a city alone at night, even a small one. I stopped by after work, and a decidedly nondescript man opened the door for me and gave me a weird smile. He was middle-aged, a little paunchy and just... off. I started through the store and soon realized he was following me. So I ducked down an aisle and lost him. I promptly forgot all about it, and went on my merry way, looking for books. I made my selections, then headed down the store's main aisle towards the cash registers. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Mr. Nondescript, sitting and facing the aisle, apparently reading something. He watched me walk past, giving me another odd smile. I felt an odd twinge, but again, shook it off.

I paid for my books and gathered up the bag, heading for the door. Out of nowhere, comes Mr. Nondescript, making a beeline for the door to hold it open for me, giving me that same smile. It startled me. Even more, it scared me. This little voice in my head said, "You are not going out into the dark parking lot with that man following you." So I feigned a sudden interest in one of the book displays, turning to stare at them rather than going on. Mr. Nondescript did a quick fade outside. I stood there looking at an utterly banal Danielle Steele (or something equivalent) display, trying to figure out what to do. I panicked for a moment. "What if he's waiting outside for you to come out? What do I do?!" The moment passed, and I shifted my bag of books and headed to the cafe. If he was waiting for me to come out, he'd just have to wait until I had something to drink.

I calmly ordered some iced coffee and a scone, since I hadn't had dinner, and settled in to read the books I bought. Maybe thirty minutes later, I stood up again and headed out. Believe me, my keys were in my hand, ready to jab someone, and I looked in every possible direction before leaving the brightness of the building. Nothing happened of course. I got into my car and drove home. (Although, I did watch to be sure no one was following me.)

What does that say about society? Or about me? Once I got home, I felt a little sheepish. I mean, he was probably just some harmless guy who saw me and thought I looked interesting. His actions might have been the actions of a 'bad man', or they might have been the actions of an overly-eager man with poor social skills. But I couldn't take that chance. My instincts were yelling too loudly.

Was I paranoid? Probably. Was my paranoia founded? Maybe, maybe not. Jo asked an interesting question on hearing about this, "Why didn't you talk to him in the bookstore? At least tell him to leave you alone?" Good question. I don't have an answer. Maybe I'm not assertive enough. Maybe I didn't want to look stupid if I was wrong and he wasn't following me.

I'm no longer in quite so much a hurry to live alone.