The backyard is my sanctuary. My garden, my string lights, my swing.
Every night I hang out in my sanctuary for a good few hours when the weather is juuust right.
Back and forth I go, from inside the house back to my swing. Grabbing food and drinks, a tech device, going to the restroom. Back and forth, back and forth.
It’s often, not always, so quiet and peaceful, especially around the middle of the night. That’s my night owl writing time.
Every day for months now, at least one of my trips inside I tell myself, dammit, I need to put WD-40 on that door. It’s sooo loud.
Yet for months, I’d still forget. Once I go inside for good, my head would hit the pillow and off to slumberland I’d go. The squeaky door was out of sight, out of mind.
I love my home. It’s served its purpose for a few years now. It’s the townhome I never knew I’d love. With a quiet young couple and their new baby next door. I have it pretty nice.
Then one day around 2am the light bulb turned on, as I was coming inside to use the restroom. The squeak was so loud! With the strength of ten men (in my mind), I instinctively lifted the door hoping that would stop the squeaking.
And it hit me. This has been going on for months. Middle of the night door squeaking and my poor neighbors with the shared wall and the new baby.
Shit. I’m the asshole. I’M THE ASSHOLE! Ugh …
My mind started spiraling. Oh my gosh this has been going on for months. One of these days they’re going to come out and scream at me. I’m going to leave my house and find a bottle of WD-40 with a snarky note.
But inside I came for the night. Again, out of sight out of mind.
Damn ADHD.
A couple days went by, still.
This time, a few hours before midnight on my first trip back inside, the squeaking practically echoed. It sounded like, “SPRAY ME … SpRaY mE … spraaay meeee”.