Worst Night Ever

I thought the night being stuck in a car with three Woodward-Granger guys, tooling around the back roads of Iowa, was awful.

I thought the night I stayed up ‘til 6 in the morning finishing a paper for stupid Psych 101 was awful.

I thought the night I spent emptying buckets of water accumulating on my bedroom window sill after the horrible rains in December was awful.
I was wrong. This is the worst night EVER.

Please note the time below. Yes, it’s that late. And I can’t go to sleep.

Right before bed tonight I realize that I can not shut my front door. It simply will not close. I get it about 6 inches from the door frame and it refuses to budge any further. I tried man-handling it (as only a woman can do) and it doesn’t even seem like the door will fit into the frame, like it’s suddenly too big. The thing is, I can’t see what the problem is. Nothing is between the door and the frame, the hinges look fine. I can’t see anything that would keep the door from shutting.

Yet here I am. I’ve managed to use the ‘door club’ my friend Liz gave me for my birthday last year to act as a barricade of some sorts. And I physically moved my couch as close to the door as possible, just in case that first line of defense crumbled.

But it’s not giving me the peace of mind I had hoped it would. I’ve been able to doze on and off, but if I hear any noise I’m wide awake again. I’m still thinking at any moment some ass-clown from down the way is going to notice my door opened a crack and take that as his invitation into my house. I know it’s probably safe and all, but HELLO my door won’t close and it’s not like I’m still living in Iowa. My luck tonight is the night some mommy-loving sociopath will decide to start his woman-killing spree and be walking past my door. And it will be my fault ‘cause I never got around to learning how to use my gun. There’s something they can put that on my tombstone, “Here lies Leana, she never learned how to use her gun.”

But there’s only seven or so hours I have to kill before I can get the complex’s handyman to come over to see if he can hopefully fix this problem. Ugh.

I guess now would be as good a time as any to go clean out my sock drawer.

Wait, here’s a better line for my tombstone, “Here lies Leana, she always knew how to keep a tidy sock drawer.” I like that way better.