A light at the end of my......kitchen?



Ok, I go to bed after having a really nice convo with my new redhead. He gets "it" and that's good. My sense of schadenfreude is an asset, it seems. So, I hang up my phone and click off the long string to my kitchen light (think Lower East Side tenement 'chic'.)



Well, I awaken--BOLT I should say--at 4:30 am to find a light on in my kitchen. Ok, back to bed. Someone turned the light on. Zzzzzz....



JESUS CHRIST I LIVE ALONE.



Can you say "FREAK OUT"????



I stop, get up and listen. I hear nothing. I go into the hall. Still no sound. I peek around the corner to look at the light, fully expecting Freddy or Leatherface to impale my forehead and neck with an ice pick/knife/claw. Nothing.



No one's there.



Or is there?



I tug gently onto the string. It seems the mechanical "catch" to release the circuit is stuck. Great. Now I need to call my super. Joyous wonder.



I pop back into bed, exhausted. A thought comes to me: "What if there was someone out on the fire escape trying to get in?" That light surely would scare the holy hell out of him. Is someone watching over me? I've heard of lights blowing OUT, but not lights popping ON by themselves.



Hate to get "Sixth Sense" on you here, kiddies, but my dad used to sit up at night and read in the kitchen. He always left the light on, even when he went to bed sometimes. I would wake up to a copy of the NY Post, poetry, Moliere, Whitman, or a British tabloid waiting for me on the table next to the salt, pepper, and sugar bowl. My addiction for "Hello!" and "Paris Match" reached a frenzied pitch by the time I turned 15.



It was about 4:45 when I said to the air, "You've got a twisted sense of humor." A feeling of relief fell over me, and I returned dark into sleep. Dexter and Kashi stood near the doorway looking at me.



It's nice to be loved, I guess.