Slowly, I might be switching back into blog writing mode. Really slowly. When out and about, certain topics or sentences find me. They float to me. They want to be written down. I toy with these ideas but not all of them take shape. Not all of them make it. I won’t be writing about this now but I’ll just blurt it out, so it would be out there, ready to take shape the next time I write: Where do I fit in? My million faces. My ability to adjust.
I would love to plunder on this topic but life has been relatively busy. Namely, because I make it busy. Some might consider this escaping. In a way, it certainly is. I fill my time with activities because I dread the moment of loneliness. I don’t want things to hit me. Hit me hard. But… I am not my thoughts, I am my actions. This is something I read from a book called Unfuck Yourself. Basically, the book says that everyone is to blame for their misfortunes. For everything. I agree. And I am not blocking out my thoughts, I am replacing them with better ones. By doing lots of exciting things, I do not open the door for negative thoughts. Let them stay behind it, knocking. I don’t need them. Let’s live! And things will work out in the end.
Anyhow, speaking of doors and locks… I wanted to share a dreadful experience I had only 2 days ago. Busy weekend. A stand-up comedy night on Friday, long run, a cosmetic procedure and consultation with my fitness trainer on Saturday, followed an ecstatic dance event among yoga people, a gym workout, another cosmetic procedure (no Botox, lash lift and stuff like this instead), and a drag queen show on Sunday. But I wanted to talk about that particular Saturday night when I arrived home around 11pm just to realise that one of my biggest fears had come true.
Do you know these doors that lock automatically once you are out? These are the kind of doors that require you to always carry the key with you. If you forget it… bad luck! I had pondered over the thought what I would do if I went for a run and forgot the key. Who would I turn to? Remember that going for a run means no phone, no money (usually) and wearing only light clothes. In winter, this can be rather bad. I am not the kind of person who would know any of the neighbours. I am not a telephone person. Phone-phobia? Yes, that’s me (or maybe it’s disappearing now). I do value my friends but I don’t feel that I can suddenly appear on their doorstep. Somehow, the relationships are not that deep. Modern world issues?
So, it was 11pm, I walked home from the bus stop, mainly thinking of the sandwich I was going to eat once inside. Just before getting to the door, I started looking for my key. None. Zero. Not in my pockets, not in my bag. I was not in a hurry when I left. I wasn’t rushing out. Not at all. But I didn’t take the key with me. I knew where it was, I always keep it in the same place. Horror. This is not my apartment, the owner lives abroad. And it was quite late already. My mind quickly scanned people who I could turn to. Would I really call any of them? My new phone does not have many numbers in it either. Would I want to be at someone else’s place? Heck, no, I wanted my own bed. And I already had plans for the morning. My Wi-Fi conveniently allowed me to connect already outdoors, although I could have used 4G as well. OK, the locksmiths are on-call 24h. Well. Expensive stuff, but whatever. The website said that the dispatch would quote the price. I first walked to a fuel station for a quick bite and the ATM. While chewing on my Asian-styled wrapper, I dialed the number. “Hey, I have a problem. I forgot the keys inside and would like to get home…” The guy on the other end promised to be there in 15 minutes.
I walked back and started waiting. He was there quite soon. Would I need to somehow prove that it was my home and I was not intruding? Do they care? I could show him photos of myself which were inside the apartment. My passport was in there as well. Should I have to describe what my hallway looked like to prove this? But he didn’t want to know anything at all. What followed were a few embarrassing minutes when I randomly called different neighbours, hoping to get into the building first. The luight was on on the 1st floor but I calculated the apartment number wrong twice and got lucky only after I tried for the 3rd time. Fortunately, this was the cool neighbour who actually felt sorry for me. Huh, that part went well.
The next part? I wanted to die. Imagine standing behind your apartment door around 11.30pm. All quiet. Most people possibly sleeping. And then you have a guy with a drill who says that we need to remove the handle. This was robust. This was painful. My ears hurt. I imagined that the whole building was awake. No one came out. Huh, my luck. I was embarrassed. The way he worked with the lock… OK, the handle, the lock stayed intact, it was like a rape. Nothing tender there. But quick. He then asked if I wanted a new handle and quoted a new price. I had only withdrawn enough money for the entrance, so no new handle for me.
And there I was, the door without the handle, the lock itself fine, me inside. I couldn’t leave it like that. A hot glue gun can fix many things. One may even try gluing the handle back as a temporary fix. As an extra safety measure, I even fixed the chain I had never used with a padlock. So no one could get in! (If you did remove the handle and knew what you were doing, you could unlock the door from the outside even without touching the lock).
Now I need a new handle. The hot glue really is temporary (says someone who reapplied it in the morning before going to work). Going to the hardware store tonight.
The interesting thing is… one of my biggest fears came true and I simply acted. I didn’t think what to do, how to get out, I just did it. It’s like I never had a phone-phobia. Don’t overthink, act!