I keep getting miffed about the number of people who try to make a run on my money. Among the frequent attempts are the low-lives who offer riches if I will pay them, or, better still, give them my bank account number. Others stand where they hope they can see my pen numbers. Another told me recently that he/she needed my computer password. I cannot describe for you the bitter disappointment on his/her face a few weeks later when I said I don't bank on line. (And, no, I don't give out my computer password to strangers or friends). I can't usually remember it anyway.
Perhaps I'm one of those people who attracts snake-in-the-grass individuals, but I'm not quite senile yet. I've had some senior moments and, on any given day, I might forget your name. However, I still have enough wits about me to be suitably paranoid about my stuff. Paranoia, by the way, is now seen as being aware of your surroundings rather than as a neurosis or mental health issue. It was left in the most recent DSM to facilitate doctors trying to bill insurance companies for patient treatment.
Recently, someone climbed on the neighbor's roof and unlocked and opened a bedroom window. When I got a phone call at 12:28 a.m., I heard a gasp that sounded like it was in the hall outside my bedroom. I'd been reading all evening and no television noise had notified anyone that I was around. When I went to bed, it was evident that neighbors on both sides were home. It tests reason that it is possible for B & E experts to stomp all over a neighbor's roof and the neighbors not hear it, don't you think? Anyway, I had heard them earlier sorting through some pipes and an outdoor umbrella in front of my house and I even heard the stomping. Due to my fans being on high, I could not tell that they were coming through the window.
So, let me be abundantly clear! I have $25.51 in savings -- for a long time now. My income is $823 per month. That is not enough to even rent an apartment in my country plus pay for utilities and buy food. If I did not own the paper on one of the country's smallest townhouses, I would have to be living on the largesse of relatives -- or on the street.
Although my 1998 auto -- a gift from my daughter and son-in-law -- is significantly better than my previous car, a 1997 two seat minivan, it is not anywhere near a Lamborghini. So why do people feel obligated to punch it, scratch it and try to break and enter it? I just don't get the fascination with me and my stuff. I'm not rich, or famous, or even beautiful. At 76, I'm barely tolerable. And I know practically nobody but family, so my lovely personality could not have ticked them off. Oh yes, there are not enough United States readers of this blog to have elicited this hate, either.
I hardly ever have any cash, so forget finding the mother lode inside my apartment. On the rare occasion I check out $30, I spend $10.00 for gas on the way home and pay the other $20.00 to the man who pulls weeds in my yard. That's it folks! The bare, ugly truth!
So, whoever you are out there, find another victim. If you took everything I had it wouldn't make you secure, much less rich. It would be just about enough to get you a felony conviction and a stint in prison.
I'd suggest you find a rich person to stalk, but I'm one of those perennial optimists who believe God will eventually make it up to me for all this poverty. And then you and I would be back to square one and I would have more than my life to lose. But, I would be able to afford that licensed gun I need for protection. And then you would be risking your life, too!
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