It’s bad for your health when you forget you’re not 20 anymore. I found that out the hard way—because of course I did.
I live in a “secure” building behind two locked doors. Very safe. Very adult. The only flaw in this fortress of solitude? I left my keys in an Uber, and the driver vanished into the ether like a magician who hates follow‑up questions. I was new here, didn’t know anyone, and even if a neighbor let me into the building, I still couldn’t get into my apartment.
So naturally, I decided the only logical solution was to break in. A stranger had climbed through my bedroom window a few weeks earlier looking for the previous tenant, so I figured: if a random man can do it, surely I—a grown woman with questionable judgment—can too.
The window lock was broken. I lived on the first floor. Easy, right? That was Mistake #1.
Out in the yard, I found a large cement block. Perfect. Heavy, awkward, and apparently placed there specifically to mock me. There was also a ladder, which would’ve been the smarter choice, but it looked heavy and I was already annoyed. So cement block it was.
Standing on it got me up to shoulder height with the window. I pried it open, took a deep breath, and thought, How hard could this be? Mistake #2.
I hoisted myself up, got my upper body through the window, and immediately realized I had nothing inside to grab onto. The only thing in the room was an air mattress—shockingly, not known for its structural support. I stood on my toes, clung to the window casing like a desperate raccoon, and tried to pull myself in.
Epic. Fail.
The cement block tipped, I lost my balance, and I fell backwards onto the ground like a sack of potatoes with trust issues. The wind was knocked out of me. I couldn’t move. And I lay there, staring at the sky, thinking about how ridiculous I must look.
I was in full view of the street, the store next door, and constant foot traffic. Not one person stopped. Not one person questioned why a woman was sprawled in the yard like she’d been ejected from her own life. No one noticed me trying to climb in the window either. That’s when it hit me: this neighborhood was dicey enough that this didn’t even register as suspicious.
When I finally caught my breath, I got up and tried again—because apparently I’m committed to bad decisions. I repositioned the cement block, grabbed the window casing, and this time swung a leg inside first. Hooking it on the sill, I managed to drag my entire body through the window and hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.
I hurt everywhere. My back was screaming. But I was inside. Victory, I guess.
Once I recovered, I went back out and moved the cement block into the neighbor’s yard. No way was I leaving it there for someone else to reenact my performance. The ladder was too heavy, so it stayed.
Concerned about how easy it was to break in, I nailed the window shut. The other windows had actual locks, so I pretended that made me safe.
Until my next questionable decision,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 