Here’s the deal. There was a slight delay in my flight to San Francisco, but it was mostly smooth sailing. While there, M. and I lived a charmed existence. Parking spaces in front of busy cafes, no more than 10 minutes average wait time to be seated for food, friendly service, parking on New Year’s Eve directly next to throngs of people waiting for fireworks. Even the one moment of urban suspicion and bad karma on the BART, where I felt like a little country rube victimized by fast talking confidence men, it turned out that my ticket was crumbled at the bottom of my pocket by my own misguided doings, not taken from me at all.

And, now, I’m back in town, and it has been one fucking ordeal after another to get here. A cancelled flight, delays and more fucking delays on the flights I did get, inexplicable delays in doors even opening upon arrival, a whole plane’s luggage missing in the disorganization of Logan Airport, a long cab queue. At the end of this bleak rainbow, my bathroom hot water is mysteriously off, so no shower for me. And, truly the capper, not only has the emergency plumbing folks not called me back, but there was just a horn honking outside my door. I peak, in vain hope of plumbing salvation, but like a true angel of darkness, a veritable beacon shining on the absolute shit my day has been, it is my former neighbor, Jimmy. A townie of epic proportion who makes the alledged Cambridge toughs Damon and Affleck of “Good Willing Hunting” reputation look every step the Nancy boys they really are.

He doesn’t so much as stalk me, as he does appear and fade away at irregular intervals. I would be nervous, as I am with his ex-con little brother who truly did stalk me for a while, if it were not for the fact that a “Fuck you, Jimmy, don’t ever come by at 1 a.m. honking again,” seems to be a sufficient deterrent. Over years, perhaps even a decade, a “No, get out of here. No, I’m not going to smoke crack with you, drink tequila with you, have a beer in the middle of the night, or otherwise do whatever it is ‘you people’ do,” seems a protective charm.

So, that’s the fucking writing on the wall. Good times, easy laughter and citrus fruit (with M.) versus delays, snow, no hot water and stalkers (alone). D’ya think the energies that run the universe are communicating here?

Yeah, I love my life.