Giving police reports and listening as they tick off their list of in-the-interim and for your safety, Mrs. Reilly measures is becoming an unwelcome part of my day. It would be nice to run alone. It would be nice to do anything alone. I'm not used to liking being by myself at all and suddenly I find myself coveting and relishing the few minutes I am gifted to myself each day now.And still I'm trying to pretend it's just the way life is, eventually whoever is bothering us will get bored and stop or leave or be caught or whatever.
For those of you wanting to know what was written on the door, forget it-I've been asked not to publicize it in case, well, in case they actually catch the person. For those of you playing internet detective and thinking it's Ben harassing me, forget it too, he has hundreds of witnesses as to his whereabouts at any given time and he's been away for almost all of this.
I don't want any more emails about Ben and your guesses. Please. Instead, let's all focus our positive energies on good things like cinnamon bread (baking in the oven right now) and great metal videos on the internet. Loud ones.
Sigh. I have a soft spot for drummers. Cole's drum kit is still down in the music room, intact. Jacob wanted to break it down and pack it away for when Henry is older and I can't do it. Not yet. Besides, Henry is old enough and loves to play.
