Clearly losing my mind

“Ummm, excuse me? Hi, could I ask for your help really quickly?”

The handsome Middle Eastern man carrying the groceries and his cute little girlfriend, who lives downstairs and across the hall from me, peered up at me from the stairwell.

Probably wondering why this odd girl was running around in her bare feet with keys and a cell phone pestering them. At 12:30 in the morning.

“I just got home and swear I heard something in my apartment. Could you come in with me?”

I’m sure the Christmas tree in the corner (it is March1, after all), the episode of “Golden Girls” drowning out the silence in the tiny one-bedroom apartment, and the complete lack of anything creepy lurking in my kitchen as anticipated made a great impression on my neighbors. Who I have smiled at twice, but never really met, in the entire eight months I’ve lived here.

Good thing I didn’t ask them to help check the closets in my bedroom — the closest that during the last week exploded in a mountain of clothes onto my bed in a week’s worth of “what do I wear to work today?” mornings. That would have really made me look normal. And sane.

The strange noise, by the way? Looks like it was the wind. Since I can’t tell the difference between air and an intruder by age 25.

This is what living alone does to you, people! I need a dog. Or a boyfriend. I don’t care which at this point.