Hi, remember me?

Just when I thought things were getting easy, making sense, finding a rhythm… its been like a month of hell.

Hell, I say!

In a nutshell… I had a pretty big cut in my hours/finances, which hit me like a ton of bricks. Leading to more insomnia, panic, rage and angst. Maybe a tear or two (don’t tell anyone). This precarious freelance life is great, but, wow, it was all out of left field. The cut, however, did lead to what I thought would be more free time to, well, get off the computer and get my life a little better in line.

Nope. I was so wrong.

About a week after that, Freedom bailed. Not that he was really being the “manny” anymore, but, it was still a huge thing, especially with how I thought the kids would be. Plus, it was out of fucking nowhere, which I guess only messes with my head (structure, yo).  Strangely enough, it hasn’t really phased any of The Crew. I’m pretty pissed off, though. Emo Boy is really angry, too. We’re both really kind of tired of people bailing. Just sayin’

As if that was not enough, though, for the super-stressed, WAH single mom of 4 with 3 special needs kids (yeah, two are “just speech,” but still), on Saturday morning, Dozer came up to my room around 7am after just leaving my bed and said, “Mommy, who is the man in the hood sleeping on the couch?”

I admit, I was still groggy. It was 7am on a Saturday. I may have wondered if she was seeing ghosts. I may have wondered a thousand things, but, instead, I asked her what she meant. She said there was a man, in a hood, on the couch, asleep.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

In disbelief, I walked downstairs, saw Enigma on the love seat using his laptop, and, yes, a strange man asleep on my couch, curled up in his hoodie.

ASLEEP ON MY MOTHER FUCKING COUCH.

WITH HALF OF MY KIDS IN THE ROOM.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Now, realize, I’m pretty good when it comes to being IN a crisis situation, or so I thought. Clear-headed, calm. I didn’t scream, I didn’t grab a weapon. I didn’t even make Enigma and Dozer leave the room.

I kicked him.

He didn’t move.

I yelled, “I’m going to call the police!”

He didn’t move.

I realized I needed to call the police.

He didn’t move.

The 911 dispatcher, perhaps in disbelief, himself, asked me where I was in the house.

“I’m in the living room watching him”

“Maybe you should go to another room,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I should probably take my kids with me, too.”

I can only imagine what he thought of me at that point. I took Enigma and Dozer up to my room, and Sunshine was just waking up, so I pulled her into my room, still on the phone with 911. The police were on the way, he said, and they were going to come in. They’ll have guns, so keep the kids away from downstairs.

Yep. Whatever you say. (Panic finally starts to creep in) Shit, what if Emo Boy wakes up and goes downstairs? FUCK.

I stand at my bedroom door, 3 kids on my bed, one kid in his room. I hear a small scuffle and some yelling (“you didn’t thin you were in the wrong house?”, and then dispatch tells me he will be hanging up now, and an officer will be coming upstairs.

He did. He asked to see my hands. He had a gun, or a flashlight.

I might mention the last time the police were in my house with guns and flashlights, I was three. It didn’t end well.

The nice officer told me the vagrant was in custody, and lived just a couple houses away. He was drunk (uh, yeah, I KICKED HIM) and the initial thought or story was that he thought he was at his house. There was a door left unlocked, and that’s how he got in. Oh, and, he pissed on the floor of my bathroom.

After my new friends all left, I started grilling the three on my bed. The timeline of events is as follows:

Enigma wakes up, goes downstairs, starts laptop. Does not see anyone on couch. Turns on TV.

Dozer wakes up, goes downstairs, watching TV.

Strange man in hood walks into living room, maybe from the bathroom he destroyed, asks MY KIDS what they’re watching on TV, passes out on couch… oh, and he knocked over my lamp and broke a CFL bulb.

I text Superman, who calls, in disbelief. Promises to help me secure the doors and windows. Tells me not to text him in an emergency. That I should, oh, call.

Oh, right.

I call BFF who says I need to get the fuck out of that neighborhood. I agree. Totally. Even if its a “nice” neighborhood… this doesn’t bode well for my future.

I return the Deputy’s message who explained the man said he thought he was in his ex-wife’s house, and had driven home from the local bar completely blitzed.

WHAT THE FUCK?

I explain what the kids told me.

I call Martian.

I sit. I work. I try not to think.

The kids are slightly weirded out, but not too bad. Emo Boy is woken up with the news. He feels terrible for forgetting to lock the door after taking out trash that evening.

I wonder when the man entered the house. I start to get really creeped out. All the “what if’s” flood through my mind.

I clean up his pee. I am moving. Fuck this.

Superman and the Dynamic Duo come over, we go to lunch. Every man I see makes me jump. “Was that him?”

Emo Boy says later that anyone with a hood on is freaking him out.

Did I mention I’m moving?

The bright side? Well, aside from my insomnia in full-force now (4am sucks), I now have less work and less money, and even the comfort of my utility bills being lower after Freedom’s exit strategy.

Fuck.