Keyed In

I lost my keys Friday.

I drove home from the track by myself, so my search area extended from the car into the house. I didn't discover they were missing until late Saturday because I stayed home waiting for Dinah. I went through every bag of trash by hand... euw! On hands and knees I saw what a poor housekeeper I am.

It really worried me that someone might have found them and could just come in the house any time, or drive off in my car, though it's not very desirable.

Yesterday we had creepy hen wars. The one eyed chicken, Pirate, was attacked by her sister Stormy who wanted to lay an egg where Pirate was brooding. I was lucky I caught it in time. Once chickens get going on each other, cannibalism isn't far behind. I isolated Pirate and have cleaned up the ookiest part. I think she'll survive it.

Jon went to Boys Night Out last night, where they run old movies and eat Thai food with cheese on it. I cooked a cheese souffle which turned out strangely. I was still thinking about the keys, and the chickens. I got tired.

I turned off the lights in the main part of the house. About a minute later there was a phone call. "Hello, hello?" No answer. Was it the key thief?

I almost never get scared being alone, but I felt uneasy last night, after that call. The timing was too precise. I got in bed and read two boring pieces in the New Yorker, first by David Sedaris and then by Woody Allen. I was glad I didn't live in New York. I fell asleep.

When Jon got in he said I sat up and said, "Who won the race?" He answered "Seabiscuit," and I fell right asleep again.

In the morning it was cold when I went to walk Molly before dawn, so I grabbed a jacket I don't usually wear. You guessed it, the keys were in the jacket. Glorious keys.