Stalker Steve

Tonight I came home with one thought on my mind...I need to relax. I've been having a difficult time "shutting down" lately. I cannot sleep through the night, I cannot concentrate on a book or television. I am wound up so tight that I fear I will unravel at any given moment.

As I approached my front door I knew relaxing was not in the cards, for I heard the screeching and metallic sounds of an electric guitar being played in the apartment across the hall from me. It was Stalker Steve.

Steve moved into the building last summer. I said hello to him on the day he moved in and the following afternoon he showed up at my door and told me that if I wanted he could come over that evening with some movies for us to watch. Oh, dear. I lied that I was busy.

He soon told me all about his cover band, his ex-wife, his ex-girlfriends, and a million other personal details that made me cringe.

When his mother was visiting, he asked me if I'd like to meet her.

When I had a chest cold last fall he knocked on my door and handed me a homemade concoction that he swore would cure me. I trashed it in fear.

I added the "Stalker" before his name once I saw him peering in my sliding glass door at night last summer. He popped outside every time I went out to water my plants. Just the other week, during our last one-foot snow storm, I snuck outside to shovel out my car. Seconds passed before Stalker Steve came chasing after me with his snow shovel and he insisted on helping me shovel out my car.

Stalker Steve has told me I'm the perfect age for him. I am 38 and Stalker Steve is 52. Blech! A 52-year-old who plays bad guitar in a cover band and peeks in my window. What more could I ask for?

I am beginning to think that one of the reasons I am unable to relax is Stalker Steve.