It’s 11:47 on a Tuesday afternoon. Outside, landscapers are destroying lawns up and down the block – but otherwise, the street is barren. Inside, I’m spending time with my one-year old daughter and editing my old stories in between work projects. Upstairs, my eighteen-year-old son is in the middle of whatever an eighteen-year-old dreams of these days. My wife is here as well, but she can give her own account. I don’t want to ruin it for her. I’ll just say it’s been nice to spend more time with her. I’ve missed her. Somewhere in the closet, the Troll has been knocking stuff over and scratching the walls.
Yes, I said the Troll. Normally, I’d only hear him at night, but since I’ve been home, I’ve been hearing his shenanigans at lot more. It seems too that as each day passes, his movements become more frequent. It’s like the little shit wants me to hear him. I tried opening the door the first few days I was home, but he’s a fast-little bastard. He knows now that I won’t try to catch him, so he roams freely in the closet, knocking over my things and making a shit-ton of noise. This morning, there was a loud crashing sound. I figured the Troll must’ve knocked over my computer equipment, so I didn’t rush to check. I didn’t want him thinking I was trying to catch him. We have kind of an unspoken agreement, the Troll and me. You stay in the closet I’ll pretend you don’t exist. It’s worked so far. So, I waited for my wife to ask what the actual hell (not exactly that word) that noise was. I told her something fell in the closet and she shrugged it off. Then I went to the closet, rapped quietly on the door to let the Troll know I was about to open the door. I heard a bit of scrambling. When the noise stopped, I opened the door, turned on the light. The first thing I noticed was that the dick did knock over my computer parts; the second thing was the two half-eaten bagels on the floor. As you can imagine, I was pretty pissed off. Not only did the little shithead break our unspoken agreement and leave the closet (those were my bagels man! I bought them!), but it seemed he also had company. I decided that I’ll have to evict the Closet Troll. Subletting without management approval or knowledge is just plain rude. I sighed, went back to the couch, and resumed editing one of my old stories and watching Black Summer on Netflix. It’s a good freakin show. Whoops…baby needs a change. I’ll be right back.
Okay, I’m back. So, funny enough, while I was changing what was perhaps the shittiest diaper in the universe, I spotted (peripherally) the little shithead jackass soon-to-be-evicted Troll creep open the closet door and peek out at me. He knows he’s in deep shit too, because when I turned to look at him full-on, he quickly closed the door. I can’t deal with the balls on this guy. I have half a mind to go grab his dinky Troll ass now and… oops… Wife just hit me with a honey-do. Be back in a few.
Back again! Welp, that took a while. I wasn’t going to come back at all, but I didn’t want to leave anyone hanging. I told my wife what the little shit is up to and my plans to evict him. She told me, “Good luck with that.” Umm…excuse moi? Perhaps she’s forgotten how many trolls I’ve already evicted from our home. Let’s see… There was the Meth Troll (she was extremely old…and short). Then there was the Rat-Troll. He was extremely short too (and fugly). He also liked to do pull-ups outside. A Crusty Couch Troll and… Oh, I even had to evict a porn-watching Crotch Troll (That was the last one). So, evicting Trolls has become of sort of specialty of mine. I’m sure this closet Troll will be gone in short time.
I’ll keep you posted.