And away we go.

Did I ever tell you about my stalker?

Well, truthfully, he didn't stalk me nearly as much as he did a few of the other girls at our music college. (I don't want to use his name, or even his first name; there's always the chance that he'll search the Web for himself.) Turns out, though, that he was only at our college in the first place because the Dean at his first college forced him to either leave or face charges...for stalking. Ahem.

Anyway, he played bassoon. One day, he approached me with the request for a commission; he wanted a piece for solo bassoon, and would pay me fifty dollars. At the time I didn't know that he was Creepiness Personified, so I accepted. He then told me that he wanted something very difficult, to show off what the two of them could do: "Me and Jesus," he said.

Yeah, that should have been my first clue.

He sat in the computer lab and watched me work. Daily, I mean. He tried to make suggestions. My friends' favorite one was, "I can put ping-pong balls in the top of my bassoon and blow them out." I eventually had to make him leave the room, but he just sat outside.

When I finally finished the piece, I could barely stand to listen to it. I still can't really listen to it. Too many shudders. He wanted me to write another one, but I told him that my compostion professor said I couldn't.

Later he stalked his accompanist; he waited outside her practice room at night until she started to work on their piece, and then he would walk in with his bassoon, sit down, and start playing. At 3 in the morning, even. Eek!

Did I tell you I bought a power drill? I'm a Man's Woman, I am. Arr, arr.

I'm done.

March's WordGoddess collaboration: "Free-write for seven minutes."