Closing my laptop, I looked around the tiny over-garage apartment and sighed. There is nothing about this place that I like, not in the least. No oven, just a microwave, and a small toaster oven. Which isn’t that big of a deal since I don’t like to cook much, almost to the point of despising it. I just like to make something simple and eat a lot of junk food. Besides the non-kitchen, there’s a tiny toilet, sink, double bed, and small couch.

But the absolute worst thing about my apartment in the sky is the noise from the garage underneath. It’s extremely annoying and invasive, not to mention loud and obnoxious.

Depressed, I decided to go through my growing and very secretive collection again. I need to start organizing it; now is as good a time as any. I desperately want a place to hide what I’ve collected so far, thus, the nerve-wracking trip to Eagles Caves today.

I don’t want anyone to find or touch my stuff, not the old lady that lives downstairs, not my co-workers, not anyone. I’m almost obsessed with finding an adequate hiding place, safe and secure from any and all danger.

Sighing again, I looked at the many items already stashed here and there, and then my mind wandered, reminiscing, remembering other collections over the years…

I’ve always collected things, I think I got it from my mom. I remember her collecting pictures of trees, rocks, mountains, rivers, having a separate three-ring binder for each one. It was a brilliant idea really, back in the day of no computers. She would’ve been a genius on the internet but unfortunately, she was born too early and died before her time was up. She didn’t even know what she missed out on. She just knew her books and yarn and lists. And they somehow comforted her, making her feel an accomplishment of sorts.

From watching my mom with her many collections, collecting became a hobby of mine, and it’s become like second nature. I’ve collected a lot of different things in my uneventful and somewhat boring lifetime. Pencils from every place that I’d go to, giraffes of all shapes and sizes, colorful fabric for quilting, interesting books, framed jigsaw puzzles.

I could go on and on, but I won’t because I’ve got to get back to thinking about my current collection and how I’m going to hide it.

I think I got distracted again. I don’t know how that happens. I don’t know if I ever get anything accomplished in my life because I can’t stay on track long enough to find out. So back to hiding my collection…

Seems like the Eagles Caves idea is a good one and I might go back next weekend. Except there are the goblins to consider before I make a decision to do that. They might be living ‘in ’those caves, for all I know. Then what? I’d be risking my life going in there. Maybe I should take my small pistol with me? I think it’s a 380 or a 38 or something like that, and I don’t think I’ve ever shot it. I’d have to figure that out before deciding. Oh, bother.

This plan might work, it’s a possibility, a chance to get my collection somewhere safe. And if I decide it’s a good plan, I’ll go back next weekend, collection and pistol in hand, and find a place to stash what I’ve collected so far. I feel better now, I’ve made a decision, sort of. I think.

Wait a minute, I’m confused, what was the reason that I stopped writing in my journal earlier? I can’t remember why I thought it was time to close the laptop. There was something that I was going to do, but what was it?

Oh well, I can’t remember now and it’s getting late, time to settle down for the evening with InkMaster and get ready to go to work tomorrow. Such a depressing thought, maybe I’ll have good dreams tonight while I’m sleeping. Wishful thinking.

Monday Morning

She always got there early and sat in the fancy conference room to do whatever she did. Always. It was Monday morning, 6am, and she was there. And I was there, too. Just not there with her. But there above her, watching, waiting.

It wasn’t difficult to get above the ceiling tiles, just a bit of a squeeze for my mature and rather full body. Unlike the trip to Eagles’ Caves, I had my phone with me for the eventuality that she would say or do something worth collecting. I had to stay really still so that she wouldn’t suspect that I was there, but that was easy enough because she had earbuds in her large misshapen ears and her big mouth was singing with whatever music was playing.

As I watched and listened, she started pecking away at her phone, and then she was talking loudly, obnoxiously, as usual. The speakerphone was on and I immediately started a video so that I could catch the whole conversation and capture each of her grotesque expressions.

“NO, don’t do that, I forbid it!” she screamed the words at the poor soul on the other end of the call.

Then a male voice emphatically and dramatically said, “Don’t tell me what to do, you’re not my boss and never will be. You’re nothing to me and I don’t ever want to see your face or hear your voice again.”

“How DARE you! You have no right to talk to me like that. I still have that picture of you and that guy, you know. And if you don’t do what I tell you to, it’s going straight to the police. You’ll be sorry when you end up in jail and even if you don’t end up there, I might be putting poison in your drink or strangle you in your sleep. So DON’T mess with me, I won’t be trifled with.”

“You bitch! You pervert….”

I’d heard and seen enough. Carefully stopping the video, I started to crawl back toward my secret entrance. She was still yelling at the male voice on the other end of the phone so there was a very low probability of my being discovered. Filled with elation, I slowly made my way across the ceiling tiles, holding my hard-earned treasure cautiously and victoriously.

As I crawled through the dusty air ducts, I thought about the company that hired me 5 years ago. I couldn’t believe that there were only 10 employees back then because there were well over 500 now. And not one of them was even close to being a friend to me.

Still crawling, almost to the locker room, I began to think about my “office”. I’d worked in the same hole-in-the-wall basement office with no windows since the beginning of this loathsome job. The basement is dark, depressing, and I absolutely hate it with all my heart and soul. Part of the reason for this hatred is that I have to share my basement space with 5 other people. FIVE PEOPLE! FIVE PEOPLE?

The dreaded five are not ones that I care to talk or think about much, so I turned my thoughts elsewhere as I arrived at the locker room. Time to change my clothes and make my way to my old battered desk. At least I made it ultra-organized and efficient. Just the way I want it. A refuge from my stormy emotions, a safe place from the commotion in the dank room, my hiding place, my desk.

Monday After Work

Opening the door to my apartment, the first sight that greeted me were the colorful and plenteous photos on the bed. Spread out randomly and haphazardly, they looked like a pack of puppies had gotten ahold of them. As I picked them up and put them in a neat pile, I thought about the evenings I spent printing these photos on my printer this week. Work was exhausting for me every day, and when I got home all I wanted to do was crash, sleep and not think. Instead, every day after work, I worked on what I considered to be my real work, my collection.

There was a drive inside me to organize, categorize and complete to perfection my collection. So, each evening I printed out photos and wrote precise notes about each one. I also transcribed the overheard conversations recorded on my phone. I feel like a spy or an undercover agent. But when you’re driven, you’re driven; and I’m driven.

After grabbing something quick to eat, I began to separate the photos and written transcriptions, it occurred to me that I was getting really sleepy. But I couldn’t quit what I was doing yet, I wanted to at least get that conversation from today in a special place before I forgot vital details.

I remembered being above the ceiling tiles, watching whatshername, or should I call her Loudmouth? I don’t want to use her real name except for important incriminating documentation that might be used as proof. After all, my collection might someday be used against a lot of people besides the bitch. She is just one of many — many, many, many — so many.

Gathering the notes and photos that I’d prepped during my breaks today, I looked at the pile of blank bound books and decided that ‘red’ would be a good color for her. Her ears and face got really red when she was screaming at that guy on the other end of the phone. I’m just glad that she decided to take her earbuds out of her detestable ears and use the speakerphone. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to hear the other side of the conversation. But luck was with me today and I could start her special book. Which would be red.

Speaking of special books, there were many of them piled up all over my tiny apartment. Some were completed and needed to be hidden, while some were partially done and needed to be finished. It was tedious work but there was great satisfaction at the prospect of approaching the final goal for the books. My plan was coming together and it wouldn’t be long until I could start the next phase.

But first things first, find a hiding place for the evidence. Patience is not my friend this week. Four more days of enduring the dreaded FIVE and then it was off to Eagles’ Caves to hide the real work.

TO BE CONTINUED…