The Gaslight Zone

Even though Farmer H has been behaving himself in the STOP BOTHERING MRS. HM department...I still cringe when I hear him storm into the Mansion. It's not like he's a charging bull in my delicate china shop, or even disgruntled at all. That's just the kind of entrance he makes. I guess it's akin to manspreading on the subway. A guy enters a room with an agenda, that being to make sure everybody notices that a guy has entered the room. Manstriding, if you will.

Yes, I first hear the slam of the kitchen door, followed by thumping across the linoleum, the metal BOING of the heating/cooling ductwork where a springy floorboard compresses it on the way from kitchen to living room, then clomping like a workboot-shod horse has entered the bathroom to take a pee or a shower. That's how I know that Farmer H is home, and my peace has a (now) 25 % chance of being disturbed. Like I said, I've laid the groundwork to eventually eliminate this behavior. Baby steps.

Yeah. I have actually made an impression on Farmer H. Not only shed some light, but fully-illuminated him on my desire to be left alone during lunch and lottery time. Which is generally between the hours of 2:00 and 4:00. It's been working pretty good. Unless Farmer H has some spectacular auction finds, or garnered a tremendous profit at his Storage Unit Store, or came across some tasty gossip tidbits within our enclave.

Still. Every time I hear those telltale signs of a Farmer H invasion, I'm on edge until I hear his La-Z-Boy crank back. Like Friday afternoon.

Farmer H generally keeps the same routine on Fridays. He heads to his Storage Unit Store by 8:00, sells until 1:00, goes to lunch around 1:30, then heads to his doctor for a shot at 2:00, and from there to an unspecified location (formerly the parts store which is now out of business) to shoot the bull with some cronies, returning home between 4:00 and 5:00. This past Friday, we'd planned on having pizza for supper, which he was going to pick up.

Friday dawned all chilly and cloudy. When I passed by the Storage Unit Store shortly after noon, there were no cars in the parking lot. I couldn't see down inside the fence, because the road crests a hill, and attention must be paid to possibly-oncoming traffic. So I couldn't tell if Farmer H still had his stuff setting out, or if his car was parked down inside. I did see many other vendors set up, so I thought that Farmer H might still be making money. Those sellers like selling to and buying from each other. I didn't give it another thought, other than to wonder if Farmer H took his jacket for the cold.

Once home, I went about my own routine, which involves gathering the components of my lunch, filling bubba cups with ice, and my 44 oz Diet Coke with sugar free cherry limeade powder. Once I carry them down to my dark basement lair, I fire up New Delly. Put a baggie of knee ice on my right leg. Check on my blogs and emails. Load up the day's music I want to listen to while scratch-offing. Then I can get to the prime part of my day.

It was sometime between 2:30 and 3:00 when I heard Farmer H manstriding about the upstairs. "Well, crap! I've got two tickets left, and now he's here to ruin it. I just bet he comes downstairs to bother me. Crap. I'll just wait on this last ticket. I HATE IT when he does this!" I paused my music, and perused the local newspaper website. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, except that I could clearly hear that Farmer H was shod with both shoes, from his footsteps above.

So I waited. I heard the bathroom clomping, but no toilet flush. Maybe Farmer H had some prescriptions he was putting away in his own personal drugstore. Sheesh! Maybe his cronies had other plans, because this was barely enough time to go from the doctor's office to the Mansion. Crap! I hate it when Farmer H changes his routine.

The La-Z-Boy crank never came. I might have heard the front door open, but it didn't slam. Farmer H often goes out it, on his way to the Gator and the BARn. But he generally slams. After a few moments of peace and quiet, I put my music back on and turned to my remaining scratchers. Which were not winners, but I can't really blame that on Farmer H.

At 3:46, I got a text from Farmer H.

"I'll get pizza on way home"

"Okay. I thought I heard you upstairs."

"Nope"

"Seriously? About an hour ago? Clomping in the bathroom?"

"No haven't been home since I left this morning"

"I hope nobody broke in. I know I heard it. I was on my next to last ticket, and thought Oh, crap, he's gonna come down to chat."

"Nope"

Something wacky is going on around here. I'm pretty sure that blog buddy Sioux would remind me that Farmer H is gaslighting me. I hope that's all it is. I shudder at the idea Farmer H has developed a way to telepathically annoy me.