Saturday Morning

I had some very creepy moments shortly after the last entry. I went into the bathroom to have that nice hot lavender and rose EO bath I'd been promising myself all day as a reward for just getting through it, and noticed that the two blue towels I had hung carefully folded over the towel rack on the shower door had been used, and were now spread nicely to dry. I'm *sure* they were still folded and unused when I left for work today -- I'm even sure they weren't folded and hung up until after David left, so it wasn't him who used them and it wasn't me. Also, there was a brush still in the electric toothbrush. Admittedly, I was bleary when I got ready for work yesterday morning but I'm almost certain I did not leave my toothbrush in the base -- and this wasn't my toothbrush, anyway -- it was David's. And the flip top to my toothpaste was up. I never leave my toothpaste flip top up. I stopped short of checking to see if there were any hairs in my hairbrush that were not long and grey and curly, and took my bath, which was less relaxing than I had hoped it would be.

Soon after, I noticed that the door to the upstairs was open and I knew I had left it shut to keep the cats from going up there and leaving fur all over the blue carpet. Suddenly every scary alone-in-the-house movie and story I ever knew was whispering in my head: "Don't open that door!" "Don't go into the attic!" "That call is coming from inside your house!" Should I call 911? Should I grab the nearest cat and run for it and sleep in the car, which is hanging out into the street? I flipped on the upstairs light and listened. Nothing. I considered the kitchen knives and tried to remember if a knife was an advisable thing to take with me or if women who carry knives into situations where an intruder waits are statistically more likely to have the knife used on them instead. Probably so. I thought about baseball bats but no one in this house is sportish. Finally I just called Yarrow (who believes himself to be a dog) to come with me and tiptoed up the stairs, pausing every couple of steps to listen.

No one there. DVDs still splayed across the bed. But the deck door was wide open and I had left it closed, Absolutely.

I closed the door and Yarrow and I skittered back downstairs, leaving the light on. After three or four attempts I finally got Mal on the phone and he said yes, he had been out on the deck and he guessed he might have left the door open, but no, he was definitely not in our bathroom today and most certainly would not have used the tub, let alone David's toothbrush.

Somehow I found this even creepier than the jammed deadbolt. A burglar/rapist/mass murderer who just wanted to freshen up? The cats and I stayed up later than I had planned, watching Frasier episodes on my laptop and then reading til the words blurred and finally daring to turn off the bedroom lights.

When I woke up this morning I thought: Obie. I bet Obie (who lives in the West Bay area) was working over on this side of the Bay and he came over to shower before leaving for the camp-out -- although since the dishes aren't done, I can't be sure: he generally goes directly to the kitchen and washes the dishes. I used to be offended but now it's more like, "Oh, good, one less thing to do." It would be unusual for him to drop by for a shower and leave the sink full, but still, that makes some sense, doesn't it?

It doesn't exactly explain the garage and the deadbolt, because he has keys to the house.

I'm glad the sun's up.