Besides still having a bitchin' toothache and still no insurance, I am disturbed by this sense I have of being stalked. Like most things out here, it is being done in a way that is not direct - no bulb flashing, no obvious drive-bys during daylight hours, no screaming for my autograph or stealing of my garbage - wait, who am I? Oh, sorry, I get confused with the rock star I am in the shower.
No, this is stalking in the passive-aggressive style; the sending of semi-direct, in-the-know messages through shared electronic media and/or through having your own expressions spoken back to you out of the mouth of a friend, yet attributed to said "stalker."
This label makes me nervous, so let's call this entity Celery With the Fluffy Leaves On Top, or better yet, just Celery.
Remember in school when another kid would all of a sudden show up with your haircut (worse=color), your boots, or nowdays perhaps your tattoo? You go to the mall and, surprise, they're already there, shopping coincidentally in the store you were going to? Then they're in line two people back from you at the food court, because, hey, they like tacos too?
Well, okay, you decide why not? We can sit together. And because they tend to be so many places you go, you speak to them more regularly than you used to, and they seem to be okay. You hang on occasion until one day they come over to help you with your homework. This person likes to help your mom a lot, too, and finds reasons to help mom even more, later, making plans for another day in the future. Maybe your friends come over as well and now become acquaintances with this person.
Then one day, you are home alone and stuck - stuck on your final paper, supposedly your best of the year. Frustrated and feeling like you're worthless because this used to be your best subject but now, now you find yourself bereft of words that used to come so easily - argh - and this person just happens to stop over. And what do you do? You feel ultra-lost so you...let them read your draft. And then let them actually make comments. Little did you know then, that you were making a grave error in judgment. That this could be possibly misunderstood as copyright.
Several of your friends soon start to drop hints: "Did you know that you and Celery have the same jacket on today?" or "You know, I saw Celery the other day at Sports Authority buying night vision goggles." Or they come right out and tell you, "Hey, Celery froths around the corners of their mouth in your presence. That person's been known to froth excessively when they're about to have to move on to another city - again. No one knows why, exactly, but take good care of yourself. Just saying."
You don't really think too much about any of this (except to note that the tic in your right eye starts up again) until the day you see the froth for yourself. "Listen Celery, I think my term paper is getting a little too much spittle on it for comfort and I'm sorry, I know I listened to some of your ideas, but I did write it myself and, you know, really, it's mine."
Celery doesn't take this too well and stalks off. Stories start making their way back to you that you stole Celery's words away, promised a byline, reneged. And you need to look hard at this, because after all, you thought it was homework for god's sake, what have you done? Celery calls and makes grand references to books you've written together (not) in places you've never been, during years in which you don't remember ever even knowing Celery. Holy crap! Do you think Celery may be missing a couple of chunks?! Celery insists that it was more than just homework and that you know it. When you attempt to tell Celery that Celery should maybe just leave you alone for awhile, Celery dips, and jumps straight into the Ranch Dressing.
Am I getting whack here or what?
You try to be nice, but it just makes things worse and soon you've actually had to threaten to get a restraining order because Celery is just a tad scary at this point.
Celery is now a "friend" of several of my "friends" and continues to do and say things that Celery knows will reach me, or show up places that Celery knows I will be, believing that I will somehow accept that Celery, even with Celery's ever-evaporating H2O, is the vegetable I want to have in every salad.
And I say, "YO! CELERY! I DON'T EVEN LIKE SALAD!!!"
Which is why I am so freaking crabby - again, today, after observing something that was directed at me that wasn't directed to me. Alas, I believe I will have to be the bigger person here, say what I need to say when I need to say it and let Celery figure out that Celery wants a big salad-lover and not a writer-of-words like me.
Today I'm grateful to have dodged a bullet in human form. Hopefully.
P.S. Of course, I did apologize to my daughter...
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