Dept. of Petty Affairs – Domestic Docket DPA-207-A: The 1:48 A.M. Door Breach
Filed by: Jerry “The Ankle Biter” Silverhand
Location: The House of Interrupted Sleep
Classification: Minor Infraction / Major Irritation
It’s 1:48 a.m. and the silence finally hit. Dog quiet, room dark, clock crawling toward the sweet spot between tired and asleep— until she kicks the door open like the caffeine fairy of bad timing.
The order? Spaghetti. Because apparently ramen noodles weren’t worthy of the sauce she made.
I’m sitting there, half-dreaming about nothing, heart rate doing 418 BPM from work residue, and suddenly I’m in a dream about a door creaking open that doesn’t even creak anymore because I WD-40’d the damn thing myself.
The dog starts barking because even he knows: silence broken after midnight means the apocalypse.
All this for noodles. Not an emergency, not a fire, just pasta preference.
And I’m left wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why respect for a closed door seems like advanced calculus.
I don’t barge into her room at odd hours. I don’t wake people up to announce culinary revelations. I keep the peace, feed the dog, and plan my 5:57 a.m. wake-up like a responsible adult raccoon.
But no— the universe decided I needed a midnight quest line titled “The Sauce Must Flow.”
So it’s logged now. No malice, just documentation: at 1:48 a.m., peace was violated by spaghetti logistics. Next time, text me. The door stays shut for a reason.
Post-Incident Reflection: Sleep deprivation turns little intrusions into big explosions. The door, the noodles, the barking dog—none of it’s huge by itself, but stacked on top of long shifts and short patience, it becomes proof of how fragile peace really is. I don’t hate her. I don’t hate this house. I just know it’s time to move on—same way my nephew’s finding his own rhythm. One day I’ll have my own place, a door that stays closed because people understand what that means. Until then, I’ll keep the ledger and try not to let midnight pasta diplomacy wreck the morning.
Filed and stamped by Jerry “The Ankle Biter” Silverhand Tribunal Chair & Frontline Negotiator, Dept. of Petty Affairs
Doctrine: Don’t bark — bill.
Motto: I don’t flex, I calculate.
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