St. Patrick’s Day!

Since I can't decide which hat to wear, I'm opting for a shamrock tee, as I head off to the medical center this morning — to get the Blood Pressure check off the to-do list.

Except for the drama generated by that Karen neighbor, it’s been quiet here on the complex.

Too quiet.

Eerily quiet.

My spidey sense has been telling me something isn’t right.

Apache hasn’t been around for a while — which is unusual in itself, and I’ve not seen the Baker walking her dog Fancy around for days and days. I’ve also not seen Jan, the painted rock lady, since I drove her to her medical center last Friday.

If you will recall, as I headed for the Pain Cave that day, I’d seen her — now dependent on an oxygen tank, headed out for a breathing test.

Forty-five minutes later, returning from my workout, Jan was STILL sitting on the bench out front. I pulled over, learned her Uber driver was VERY late, so I drove her to the medical center telling her to call if the ride back failed her.

Haven’t seen her since and, there being no signs of life at her unit, I'm thinking she must have been readmitted for observation.

The saga of that Karen and the Talker took a frightening turn yesterday when, returning from that morning's workout, the Talker approached me saying, "Shirley, I’m scared".

"Why!? What happened!?"

"She's stalking me".

The story is that although the Karen is trying to be nice, Talker feels the Karen is actually crazy, a physical danger and can’t maintain for much longer, based on her now strange behaviors — stalker behavior.

Like being observed by others standing outside glaring up at Talker’s unit — like I'd observed a couple days ago.

Like being observed following the Talker to her car one day, hiding and peering from behind the trash receptacle — assuming to see where Talker parks, what kind of car she drives.

Talker said she'd actually seen, from the corner of her eyes, the Karen peeking at her from around the structure.

Like being observed to be on hands and knees picking around in the dirt in front of her own patio, appearing to be looking for something.

Talker later found plant pieces piled up in front of her door. Plant pieces it is assumed little miss "I’m sick, I need peace and quiet" was well enough to kneel, dig in the dirt, then climb the stairs to place her findings in front of Talker’s door, for some odd reason.

Talker says what scares her most is the Karen has been trying to finagle her way inside Talker’s unit — "nicely" offering to come up, help Talker with this, that, the other.

So, it looks like Karen of the "I'm sick, I need peace and quiet" klan can not only climb stairs, but is able and willing to help Talker with this, that, the other.

I'm thinking what that's about is her wanting to get inside, see the layout, determine who sleeps where, so she can direct whatever it is she's planning in the correct direction, or she wants to plant something inside.

At any rate,"I don’t want her inside my unit. I don’t know what she’ll do", said the Talker.

Talker's problem is, like I said before, she's too nice. Knowing Karen is being insincere, that she's now become afraid of Karen, the Talker continues to play the game with her.

A spiritual teacher once explained conflict between two people as there's a pitcher and a catcher. The pitcher pitches, the catcher catches, the pitcher pitches, the catcher catches. But what would happen if the pitcher pitched and the catcher refused to catch? It would be game over.

I suggested Talker stop catching, stop playing the game; do not engage, don’t give Karen any attention, ignore when she speaks, pay no mind to her so-called attempts at being friendly.

"I can’t do that, can’t be that way", says Talker.

Okay then, she'll have to live with the consequences.

Hopefully, she'll at least let the office know she's scared, perhaps consider a restraining order.

I gotta tell you, I'm fast losing sympathy for the Talker.

She doesn't want to move to a downstairs unit, she doesn't want to disengage, she probably won't talk to the office or get a restraining order. Instead, she's "praying".

There's the old saying, "God helps those who help themselves".

My spidey sense is telling me the unusual quiet on the place is a universal dread amongst those of us aware of the situation that the Talker will one day soon be wishing she’d been more proactive.

Wish me luck at the medical center because I just took my BP and it reads 145/61, which is too high. I'll have to do the breathing thing Mike, over at Billions of Visions of Normal, told me about and get the reading down to the 120's by the time I reach the center.