The Word of the Day is Nefarious

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Dec 13, 2004.]

I thought it was ironic that, when I opened my email this morning I found an email from the Merriam – Webster Dictionary site informing me that the word of the day is nefarious.

The email states that nefarious means: flagrantly wicked or impious : evil

And the sentence example given is: The sheriff vowed to avenge the nefarious deeds of the bandits who robbed the bank and kidnapped his daughter.

You might ask me, “Now Fate, why is that so ironic?”

And I would tell you that I find it ironic because there are two police officers in my bedroom right now trying to lift some evidence from the various surfaces in there so that they can (hopefully) catch the man who climbed into my window last night.

No my gentle dears, I am not joking. At about 3am this morning I was sitting at the computer in my living room writing a paper for school when I hear a beep from my bedroom. One look at the screen told me that the beep was my dsl going down. WTF?!?

So I grumble my way down the hallway, innocently poke my head in to see if it’s my dsl tower or if I need to go back to my computer to fiddle with that. Damnit! It’s the tower! So I take another step into my room, and suddenly my world turns into chaos.

A hand goes around my mouth, another around my waist and the stranger behind me hisses, “SHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

I must say that it was rather surreal. I kept thinking in the back of my head, “This has GOT to be a joke and I’m gonna kill whatever friend this is. . .” while at the same time my body automatically reacted.

Elbow goes back into the gut, head twisting to get my mouth free so I can scream at the top of my lungs. . .HELP ME! HELP ME!

It must have been all of thirty seconds before my mom (who lives with me) wakes up and starts screaming, “WHAT’S WRONG CHERIE? WHAT’S WRONG?” And I start screaming, “CALL 911!” over and over again.

All the while I’m trying to get a hand or foot on some part of this guy so I can grab at him, screaming at the top of my lungs, and thinking frantically, “ohgodohgodohgodohgodplease. . . dontlethimhurtmehurtmehurtme. . .ihavetogetaway!!!!!”

He realizes that everyone in the house is awake and he no longer has control of the situation, and desperately tries to open the door. . .and as he tries that, I simultaneously realize that my daughter and mom are on the other side of that door, so I throw myself hard against the door so he doesn’t get out.

This only works for so long. His desperation lends him strength that I couldn’t seem to match as he lifts me up and throws me feet over head and I land on my head on the floor while he drags open the door.

I still don’t know how I got up off the floor, but I found myself barreling down the hallway when I saw him grab my mother, who was standing in the hallway clutching her cellphone trying to dial 911.

I scream at him to let her go and she pushes him away, he looks scared now and pushes her away and runs. . .straight into the half bath thinking it was a way out. I take two steps towards him and he turns and heads back towards the front door. . .only to find it locked. As he opens the door I grab him by the back of the sweater screaming obscenities, ready to drag him to the ground and pummel him into a red pulp when my mother is yelling at me to just let him go. My need to grind him into a pile of entrails is stopped by the fear in my mom’s voice and the flashing thought of my daughter in the other room.

I let him go in the end and now only wish I had had the presence of mind to kick his sorry nefarious azz down the stairs.

After a call to 911 (mom never had the chance to make the call) the police were at my door lickety split, and the rest of the night (morning) was spent with the uniformed officers trouncing in and out of my apartment trying to lift prints (oh the graphite!) and get everyone’s story.

The uniforms left just before 7am and the call from the suits (and windbreakers) came just after 9am. They walked in the door a half hour later to CSI my bedroom just a little bit more.

I came out of it with just some bumps and bruises, (along with a ripped up shirt), but I’m still freaked out. It all seems so surreal. My mom seems okay, but I know she’s just trying to hold it all together. My daughter tried to go to school, but all the kids and noise was just too much.

I want to get past the freaked out stage of all of this and get on to just the anger. Anger I can handle. I want to be done with second guessing myself and every move I made. I’d rather picture him writhing on the floor in pain or crashing down the stairs in a flood of red.

I know this is long and I apologize. I’ve been wordsmithing this in my head since I was sitting on the couch waiting for the uniforms to all leave, trying to not freak out.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just looking to put it out there because. . .well, here in the real world if someone tells me how sorry they are and tries to comfort me I’m gonna’ lose it. But here I can just get it out and be done with it. This way it doesn’t just go into the stratosphere, but to actual people. I’ll ask for no more than a simple good thought or small prayer so that I can keep it all together.

Nefarious indeed.


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