Storytime?. Nah, not exactly. So, as I climbed all too wearily into my belated, daily shower, I was listening to a throwback track, remastered, from Nelly Furtado: “Say It Right” ft Timbaland (2006). Other versions of this particular tune not ft Timbaland's vocals have an entirely different (bland) vibe, altogether. I digress ... Part-way through my second shampoo rinse (and right before I also stealthily managed to knock my conditioner out of my shower stall, far beyond my reach), an angry male voice cut through my opened, screened bathroom window, “F**k you, you ugly, fat bitch!. I'm so done with you and you pulling your skanky sh-t!” Quickly followed up with several muffled thuds, and then by a liberal, staccato scattering of what sounded a whole lot like shattering glass. Mmm-kay. Then, it was as if the entire surrounding apartment complex paused briefly, inwardly inhaled and reset itself, like nothing bad at all had just happened. I figured, intuitively, that this was considered to be a perfectly reasonable standard of behavior for around here.

As far as my unique brand of normal is concerned, during the past four months, I've had so many ongoing contacts with law enforcement (including having a uniformed cop standing in what was my former kitchen all morning, for day after day, after day). As a result, my conflict barometer has been skewed, shifted and reset quite considerably. Perhaps, permanently. That still leaves a lot of residual hesitancy, uncertainty and impermanence in my life situation.