Rambles of Lisa

Signed a new lease on the 2nd, which marks six years of living alone. When that time of the year rolls around I’m always terrified that they’ll say they don’t want ‘Cat Lady’ anymore. The thing I worry about the worst is being homeless or losing agency over myself.

I have a teacher from back when I was 6 who wants me to come live with her two states away because she’s still obsessed with me. She hasn’t seen me since age 8 and has tons of “Lisa memorabilia.” She must still see me as 8 or less. She means well, but I can discern her Evangelical need to save me from being a liberal, a social justice warrior, and only a mainline Christian. The thought of having to suppress myself is horrifying. I think the first time I drop something and say the F bomb or GD it, she’d realize her mistake in thinking I’m still my pure 7 years-old self. I always say, “No, thank you. I’m happy with my life here, but I really appreciate it.” My mom, were she still alive, would be concerned about her like she was when I was young.

In other news, my best friend and I thought we heard gunshots while we were feeding strays. It must not have been shots though, because Deputy Doughnut n’ crew took their time to bother responding, circled around my neighborhood disaffected, and left. I was moderately scared. By the end of it all, I felt it was like being in Vanilla Ice’s video:

Vanilla Ice: Gunshots rang out like a bell.

Me: OK.

So yeah, I was moderately afraid and shielded my friend by putting my massive frame in front of where the gun sound came from. We laid on the ground and she called the cops. I personally just wanted to get the hell out of there, my flight mechanism in full on ‘haul ass’ mode. Then we hurried over to the handicapped ramp and hid for awhile. So, it must have been a car backfiring. I’d have given the experience a 8 out of 10 stars in the anxiety department, because as my mind works, ” Being shot isn’t as bad as the fear of being homeless.” I felt pretty stupid, and was grateful that the cops didn’t feel obliged to stop and talk to us. There’s some drugs in my complex, but as far as I know, no one’s ever been shot here. You have to go about a mile or so to get to a neighborhood where people get shot, really. I could imagine the cops laughing at the cat ladies as they went by. “Hysterical biddies,” I imagine them saying to each other. So yeah, unless someone’s bleeding out, I won’t be calling.