these are not my walls

Beware the Ides of March!

I am so tired. I spent a good couple of minutes smacking my pockets and the pockets of my backpack today, trying to find my keys, before I remembered that they were in the ignition. Of my car. 'Cause I was, like, driving, you know?

(Technically, I was at a red light at the time. Don't worry.)

I passed a cop car on the way home. It was stopped at an intersection, at a stop sign, kinda like this:



You can't really tell in two dimensions, but the little intersection you see is partway up a hill. I have to come up from the bottom left, do a bit of a zigzag so that I pass on the right of where the cop car was, then continue up and around the hill and pull a left at the intersection at the top. That intersection is ridiculous; there's a yield sign (I tried to draw it in; my mad paint skillz appear to have temporarily deserted me), but you can't see a goddamn thing (hence my attempt at drawing in rocks and bushes), so you pretty much have to come to a stop anyway.

Well, if you're me, you come to a stop. If you're the charming teenaged girls who almost hit me earlier this week, you just rush through and assume everyone will get out of your way, because you're Just. That. Important.

Anyway, the cop car. Was, like, deserted. Nobody in it, nobody around - although I suppose they might have been in that house on the corner, but I couldn't discern any activity in there (and I was there for a few moments, trying to make a left at that stupid intersection. Have I mentioned how drunk the Sudbury town planners clearly were? Because they were. Clearly.)

So, people will come careening down that hill and not see the car, and hit it. Or, it was stolen and abandoned there. Believe me, this is a realistic possibility in my neighbourhood.

Being the good citizen I am, I called the cops when I got home. I don't know why I bothered; I've never had good luck calling the cops. Like that one time Cynthia and I managed to call the cops on that poor sucker who was just trying to get into his own apartment? Yeah. In our defense, he WAS trying to break in (um, to his own apartment, but how could we know??)

The cop took my story, but I could tell he was laughing at me. Just like they laughed at me when I called in the fall and reported that it sounded like people were fighting outside my window, and I thought I'd heard them talking about knives. Y'all, I think I might live in a bad neighbourhood!