Let’s talk about being scared. Well, again. It’s been a bit since I’ve written anything in here, so I should give a little background as to what’s been going on in your favorite Moondoggie’s life.
So I was out in Boston in mid-October, visiting the glorious Barb, love of my life. I come back home from a great almost-week to find the back door to my house open. Yes, my house had been broken into. Somehow, that doesn’t sound descriptive enough. Let’s try this: my house was broken into and my state of well-being had been anally raped. Yeah, that sounds a little closer.
The bastards didn’t get very much – looks like something scared them away in the process. The kind officer told me I’m more than likely not the one who did it, as this would probably have happened during the day as that’s when most residences are knocked over. Of course, a few minutes later as we’re walking the house, he gives me this worried look and asks if I’ve already looked through the house to see if they’re still here.
And oh, how I wanted them to still be here. Just a few prized moments with them before the police arrived, that’s all I asked. Alas, it was not to be as the cowards hightailed it out of there with a DVD player, a VCR, and half of my DVD collection. Like I said, they didn’t get very much, but it’s the violation that just kills you. Not to mention paying the insurance deductible. There’s no such thing as a victimless crime, kiddies.
So now I’m developing a nifty little obsessive-compulsive disorder to cope. Before I leave the house, every door inside must be shut. When I go to sleep, every door but the bedroom is shut, and I have a nice little Home Alone/Rube Goldberg alarm system going on. Not to mention my little arsenal next to my bed. No firearms or such – we’re talkin’ blunt instruments, baby – a gun’s too good for ’em. I find myself slipping into a specific routine to keep myself sane. To get back a little peace of mind.
Of course, since I’m exceedingly forgetful (my lawsuit against Memento is still pending), occasionally I don’t remember that I haven’t gone through all of the steps for whatever reason. This is why the habits must be formed. Last night I scared the bejeezus out of myself because I had forgotten to shut the door to the laundry room before going to sleep.
My latest fright was about an hour ago. I had left the door to my office open, since I was just going to take a short nap. It’s right around the corner from my bedroom, and since I left the monitor on, it lights up my bedroom door when darkness falls. Darkness dropped, and everything would’ve been fine. That is, if I didn’t have my hockey girdle (the big black shorts) hanging on the office door to dry. Imagine living alone, then waking up to find someone looming in the doorway, arms raised above their heads. If it helps, add in bad eyesight and no glasses. That’s what I thought too – “Holy FUCK!”
Latest interesting way my mind works: as soon as I saw the evil looming person, I realized it was the shadow of my hockey girdle being thrown onto the door. The part that realized this lives in .000001% of my brain, right by the ear. It told me I shouldn’t panic, but you know how mob scenes can get – it was more than a little overwhelmed.
So now I sit here, a couple more years removed from my life, though as Denis Leary says, they’re taken off of the bad part – the end. Here I had always thought it was the smell of my hockey gear that would kill me. Turns out it’s the shadows I have to watch out for.
Time to go watch some TV.