Packing for Paranoia-ville

I’ve been feeling a little paranoid lately. It started last week when I discovered that the posts I've "publicized" on Twitter were apparently hijacked by a porn site for the "kinkiest widows."

I actually received the following direct message from a colleague on Twitter: "What in the world could you be doing inside these videos?"  When I clicked on the attached link it took me to Facebook but asked for my Twitter email and password. I closed the window and emailed the colleague, “What videos? I can’t open the link." Then I got a message saying I couldn't email her because she's not "following" me on Twitter.

The Twitter/porn site/Facebook thing couldn’t be resolved right away because on Tuesday I had fired the apartment's internet provider – EarthLink - after the umpteenth customer service call to fix a service that never worked to begin with. (EarthLink is another remnant of my late husband's set-up. All the utility bills are still in his name.)

On Wednesday, the new internet provider - Time Warner - sent Jose the serviceman for the installation. But Jose said the wires he needed had been cut and my Landlord would have to be contacted because construction was necessary to reconnect them. "But my landlord never answers his phone," I said. Jose shrugged and took his number anyway.

Two hours after that my neighbor Marco knocked on my door and told me that he's moving to the apartment underneath mine, but he’s not telling the Landlord so if any problems arise, could I keep it “between us?”

“Why would there be a problem?” I asked. Justin explained that he "produces music" until late and though he soundproofs the walls, the bass sometimes bleeds through. “When do you usually get home?” he asked. “So I know when to be quiet.” "I'm in and out," I replied hastily, then agreed to keep his illegal sublet on the down low, said goodbye and closed the door.

K never totally trusted Marco, who has three kids by three different women and, as far as we could tell, no job.  Now he’s going to be living underneath me playing loud music and having parties till all hours. If he wanted to rob me, all he would need is a ladder from his patio to mine.

Later in the afternoon, a friend of K’s from way back named Andy called me. We recently connected on Facebook after he tracked me down. K never mentioned him before but Andy has left nice messages on his memorial page.

Andy and I chatted for a while, mostly reminiscing about K, until he announced that he had to leave for an AA meeting. “Can I call you after that?” he asked. “It’s important that we talk.” “Sure,” I said, curious what could be so important.

A few hours later, he called me back saying he was at the hospital “getting a psychiatric evaluation” because he thinks the government is plotting against him and monitoring him through AA. “Well, I hope it all works out,” I said. The line went dead.

These are the moments when I really miss my husband and hate being a widow. The moments when everyone seems crazy and I don’t know who I can trust.

K was so grounded, such a good judge of character. He was street-wise and tough, but also diplomatic enough to diffuse situations without escalation. When I try to be tough, I just comes across as bitchy.

People talk about living without fear and so on. I try but it’s like I always have a bag packed for Paranoia-ville. Sometimes, it’s really challenging not to go there.