Thoughts...

Currently, my darling husband is napping. I was trying to wake him up earlier but I've since decided to give up on it. He'll wake up when he's ready.

I've spent my time reading through his blog. As I'm doing so, I am struck yet again by the sensitivity and depth with which he writes. I sincerely hope that the comments that he has recieved from several individuals recently helps him to recognize that he is a fabulous writer.

As I type this, I'm trying so hard not to listen to an argument that happened between the landlord and the guy who lives upstairs. I like to think that I am generally a tolerant person and that I haven't much in the way of malice in my heart. Malice usually leads to indigestion and ulcers. Usually a miserable state of affairs, so I strive not to indulge in it and attempt to avoid cultivating it. That said, apart of me flared up quickly with the hope that this man is going to get thrown out of the apartment.

I'm torn between horror that such a wish so quickly flew to mind and embaressment that I have admitted it to the whole world. My streak of malice towards this man is not based in something foolishly repulsive like his race or his religion. It's not petty and based upon his profession or his style of clothes. No, my malice is based upon his lecherous conduct towards myself. I have taken to avoiding going out and delighting in the sunlight on afternoon walks when I get home from work for fear that this man may start following me. The times where he has spoken to me, I get looked over like I'm a peice of meat. The expression of "feeling his eyes on me" wasn't in that nice happy connotation, as it usually is in reference to my husband.

Now, I know, somewhere there is some one that will read these words and say "Well, you choose to feel that way when this man looks at you. Just ignore him." That's a rather trite thing to say and it completely devalues my position here. While I conced that we choose how we respond to a situation, I don't think that ignoring the feeling or this man will resolve the issue. This man makes me frightened. I have had him say to me that he's seen me around town, stating that he's watched me go about my daily business frequently. When I lived in Wellsville, NY, this man lived there as well. He watched me and followed me around town on a semi-regular basis there as well.

Now, he lives upstairs from me. I can not ignore the feeling of danger that comes from this. When he has friends over and they happen to see me out and about, all of them watch me the way that preditors watch their prey. I am torn between anger and a desire to run and hide from their eyes. I know the moment a hand was set upon my person, I'd be quick to tear it off at the shoulder. I can't shake the feeling, however, that when I'm home alone and this man is upstairs that I need to lock the door and keep a heavy or sharp object within reach. He's a quiet and generally polite tenant. My argument isn't such that I can exactly talk to the landlord about it.

So, I grin and bear it. But I don't like it. I've thought about throwing some magic at it, as I am a witch. But then I say to myself, what if that is something that hastens the whole mess turning into a disaster. So, I swallow the urges to drop bindings on him and cast some kind of working to drive him away from here. Each time he stares lecherously at me, however, it becomes harder not to do so.

Somedays, apart of me hates men. Then I realize it's not men I hate, it's the ones that view women as objects to be consumed and used to fulfill their appetites that I hate. And there is a disgustingly large number of them in the world. I hate those men.