Security Systems. Also: Scheduling Issues.

I hate cleaning. I hate cleaning. HATE.For the past six months or so, there have been several rather unpleasant notes left tacked to the bulletin board in my building, all directed towards one woman named Maureen. I found the notes terribly amusing for a while, but I met Maureen for the first time a few weeks ago and we started talking about these incidents. I assumed that they were being left by a friend of hers who was trying to play a joke, but she says that all of her prime suspects have adamantly denied being involved in any way. She’s nervous, and I’m nervous for her — who specifically picked her as a target, and what do they ultimately want from her? I ran into Maureen again today, and she let me know that the management has allegedly installed a hidden camera inside the light fixture at the front door. Neither of us can actually see the camera, so either they’re lying, or it truly is “hidden.” Either way, I suppose that means I should stop exposing myself to the mailman.

Security is rather important to me. I grew up somewhat sheltered in nice suburban neighborhoods, and I’m not comfortable with the possibility of people threatening my personal space. When I moved here, I decided that I was willing to pay a higher-than-average rent for a smaller-than-average apartment because I wanted to live in a good neighborhood with low crime rates. And even though I live in such a neighborhood, I do still occasionally feel threatened.

During the middle of the night of my very first weekend living here, on my own, away from my family, I was awakened by rustling coming from outside. I ignored it, until something under my window fell with a crash. I chided myself for being paranoid and silly, blamed the ruckus on a cat knocking over a garbage can, and started to go back to sleep. Five minutes later, there was a knock on my door — I panicked. I grabbed my phone in one hand while frantically trying to throw on a balled-up pair of sweatpants and climbed down my ladder, where I grabbed, of all things, a paring knife. By this time, the knock on the door had turned into an incessant pounding and I took a deep breath before yelling out: “What do you want?” “Karen, let us in!,” they replied, much to my relief. They weren’t rapists or murderers; they were just mistaken. I’m not Karen; Karen lived here before me, and I told them such through the locked and chained door. They apologized and went on their way, and nobody’s broken in to the building to the best of my knowledge since then. Or, at the very least, nobody’s broken into the building and targeted me. Even so, I’ve been somewhat nervous ever since then. I took a self-defense course, which helped to some degree, but I’m still afraid of the things that I can’t control, such as the potential of having somebody break into my apartment and coming after me. I check my locks several times every night before bed, and I have to sleep with both the fan set on high and music playing so that I can’t hear the sounds of the city going on outside my window. If I hear people walking around outside, I panic. And because I live downtown, near many bars and clubs, there are often people milling about making a lot of noise. Needless to say, I don’t sleep very well.

I don’t know where I’m going with all this. I suppose that I’m just tired of feeling unsafe. It’s not a problem with where I live or what precautions I take; it’s a problem with my perception, with my intense fear of chaos and the unknown. One of these days, I really ought to learn to deal with it.

I’m starting to wonder if maybe I have a few too many projects going on. The director of the show I auditioned with last week asked me to come for a callback to read for the main female role, but I had already promised to meet up with the dinner theatre people at the same time. I had to e-mail her back and ask if there was another time for me to come in, but I know that might ruin my chances because a big part of the callback is seeing which actors have chemistry with each other. If I’m not there at the same time as the other actors, I might lose my shot at the role. Then, even if I do get cast, the dinner theatre may interfere with rehearsals, as will my job, as will rehearsals for the holiday chorus I’m doing, even though I listed the chorus rehearsals on my conflict sheet. Don’t get me wrong — I’m thrilled to really be making steps towards becoming a working actor (some of these jobs even pay!) but I wish that I was better at managing and juggling all of these different projects.